


instant crush

by peachplease



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: AJ & Lee, Alternate Universe - High School, Band Fic, Clouis, Drama, Everybody from Ericson, F/M, Gen, Humor, It's not slow but it's not super fast, Mentions of drugs, Moderate burn, Original Character(s), Sometimes things get sad, Underage Drinking, canon? never heard of her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2019-10-23 14:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17684903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachplease/pseuds/peachplease
Summary: She's wearing a simple, black t-shirt and distressed jeans. A hat is perched on her head, but a few curly tendrils of hair escape it to fall around her face. Her eyes are striking, aglow with the golden hue of a flame.Louis realizes he's staring at her but he can't look away.(High school feels like it'll last forever until it's over. Friendships forged through music feel like they'll last forever until they end. Sometimes the last person you expect ends up becoming your home.)





	1. suddenly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!! I STILL LIVE AND BREATHE CLOUIS!! listen, after everything that happened in episode 3, i went into a spiral. i needed something light and funny to combat the pAIN i was feeling. so i wrote this. i wanted something modern and i love band aus so THIS WAS BORN. it's been super fun to write this and i can't wait to give y'all the fun story i got cooked up in my head.
> 
> BEFORE YOU START TO READ: please know that the main characters in the story (our high school kids) are all seniors and therefore are 17-18 in age.
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during you read or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 

 

 

 

_I don't know you_  
_And you don't know me_  
_But here we both are_  
_So suddenly_  

_"Suddenly" - Future Generations_

 

“Clementine!”

Clem is only in the foyer when Sophie bounds up to her, red hair flowing behind her as she beams at the girl. “You made it!”  

“I don’t live far so I thought I’d stop by,” Clem says, taking a look around. Bodies are scattered across the downstairs of the open-concept living space. Couches are pushed against walls as people filter in and out of the living room into the kitchen, grabbing drinks and laughing amicably. The lights are dimmed—creating a relaxed environment and casting a dream-like glow around the house.

Clem has enough experience being the “new girl”, and she can confidently say it sucks. She's not a party person, not by any means, but when Sophie came up to her at the end of 7th period and invited her to a house party (after knowing her for only a week), it felt wrong to turn her down. It's high school, therefore no one ever made the effort of including her in their already established social circles. Especially now that it's senior year.

This was a rare opportunity so she took it. Maybe things will be different this time.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Sophie excitedly claps her hands together. “Remember I told you about my sister’s band?”

Her response is a nod.

“You got here just in time because they’re gonna start playing super soon. Here, give me your jacket.” Sophie holds out her hand expectantly.

Clem fingers the zipper of her jean jacket, reluctant to give it away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Trust me, it’s gonna get real crowded in here soon. The less layers you have on, the better.” Sophie is an example of this, dressed in a pair of fitted jeans and a blue shirt that leaves one shoulder exposed.

The jacket comes off with a small sigh and is handed to Sophie, who in turn walks it to a closet with the door ajar, and suspends it from a coat rack mounted on the back of the door.  

“You want a drink?” Sophie asks Clementine when she’s back at her side.

“Yeah, I could use one.”

“Follow me.” The girls navigate their way through the growing crowd of chattering teens. In an attempt to keep toes from being stepped on, Clem stays close to Sophie. She moves when the other girl moves, dodging shoulder collisions and wild hand gestures from overly enthusiastic conversationalists—not to mention the train of guys passing by, each one holding a piece to a drum kit above their heads.

They get their drinks relatively fast, thanks to the pretty girl with the raven-colored hair handing out bottles of beer to everyone who walks by. She even compliments Clem on her hat which causes her cheeks to warm when she replies with, “Thanks.”

Suddenly, the sharp strum of an electric guitar cuts through the air.

Sophie’s hand lands on her arm. “Now that we got our drinks, let's go get good spots.”

In a blink of an eye, the once tolerable crowd has developed into a mob of rowdy teens, all huddled in the living room. It's another struggle to get to the front, but somehow they pull it off and now have a clear view of the band of the night.

A tall girl with copper hair chopped short stands in the front, idly tossing a microphone from one hand to the other. “I'm ready whenever you guys are,” she says to her bandmates.

A blonde girl with a bass guitar laid across her torso takes a shot out of a flask and passes it back to the redhead.

“Here, Marlon,” a guy says, removing a guitar from around him then handing it over. “It's tuned.”

“Thanks, man,” the recipient of the guitar—Marlon?—says. “Minnie, lemme take a shot.”

“Mitch, how do your drums sound?”

“Fine. Let's fucking play so I can go get drunk.”

“Great, love the enthusiasm.” The guy who says this stations himself behind a keyboard. “Alright, we're good to go Minnie.”

“Okay! Hey everybody—  _Oops_ , the mic isn't plugged in.” Minnie—as everyone is calling her—laughs, and bends down to plug the mic in the amp. A short, popping noise emits from the speaker, then her voice projects through it. “Anyway, yeah, hey guys!”

The boisterous nattering of the crowd dies down to a low buzz.

“We’re Troubled Youth! Huge thanks to everyone who showed up and an even bigger thanks to Josh for inviting us to come play.”

Few people applaud and let out a whoop, majority still in conversation.

“And… yeah, I think that’s everything I was supposed to say. _Let’s go!_ ” Minnie yells the last part of her sentence, her enhanced voice echoing off the walls which causes a chain reaction of partygoers shouting and cheering, eager to hear some live music.

The air is charged with a thrilling energy, restless people bouncing on the balls of their feet. Clem takes a swig of her beer, already feeling a little warm at the body heat that’s gathering behind her.

Sophie grins at her, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Clem smiles back, but honestly? She has no idea what to expect from Troubled Youth. I mean, how good can a high school band be?

Then the first chords of the keyboard starts. After that, the drums.

Minnie croons the opening lyrics, her voice low but melodic. The bass and guitar join in succession, the instruments building to a crescendo in time for Minnie to belt out the chorus. Her voice is powerful during this part of the song, every note is hit effortlessly even though the girl is dancing around the small space she’s allotted.

 _Holy shit_ , is the first thought that pops into Clem’s mind.

They’re actually _really_ good!

The music is loud as the percussion booms like a heartbeat and the guitar slices through the air. The crowd stomps their feet and bop their heads to the beat, along with the band members. Everyone seems to be on the same page, both the band and the listeners are enjoying themselves—the synergy is contagious.

Minnie is an excellent frontwoman, grooving with the party-goers and her members all the while not missing a single part of the song. She sings a certain lyric to the bassist, coy smirks pass between them, before she goes and messes around with the guitarist, they stand back to back as he plays and she sings.

Clem is amazed. “I’ve never heard this song before!” she says to Sophie, her voice loud to be heard above the music.

Sophie replies, “They write their own music! Awesome, right?”

Clem nods in agreement, captivated by the performance in front of her. For the first time tonight she lets go, her shoulders loosen, and she—along with everyone else—loses herself in the music.

 

\---

 

They performed four songs in total.

This was an impromptu set for Troubled Youth, sprung on them last minute when Josh texted Marlon after 5th period, who then texted Louis, who then texted everyone in the Troubled Youth group chat to ask if they were free tonight.

There was a swift huddle after school to brief everyone on what songs they’ll do, what to bring, and what time to meet up, and then everyone went their separate ways. No point in wasting time with irrelevant details, they’ve been doing little gigs like this for years.  

Now here they are, hours later, relishing in the resounding applause and cheers.

Everything worked out just fine.

“Thank you!” Minnie hollers into the microphone. “I love you all!” That alcohol in her flask is definitely hitting her.

Louis and Marlon share a look, both saying the same thing without saying anything at all.

Marlon throws an arm around Minnie and slyly takes the mic from her, speaking into it himself, “We ‘preciate you guys watching! The support is unreal.”

“Marlon! You’re hot!” An anonymous girl yells. The crowd bursts out laughing.

Marlon grins. “Come find me later!”

Minnie grabs Marlon’s wrist and brings the mic to her mouth. “Get better taste,” she mutters, but everyone still hears her.

“ _Allllright_ ,” Marlon drags to mic back over to him, “we’re done! Bye!” And with that, Marlon unplugs the mic from the amp.

Louis is cracking up behind his keyboard at his two friends when a bunch of people start to swarm them, peppy greetings and sparkling praises buzz in his ears. He makes an effort to thank every person who says, “Great job, dude!” or “You were _so_ good!”

He’s unplugging his instrument and wrapping cords when Sophie appears behind him, tapping him on his back. He twists around to say hello to her. “Hey, Sophie! What’s up?”

“Hi!” They give each other a side hug. “You were amazing,” she says.

“Thank you!” He smiles down at her.

“What about me?” Marlon is inserting his guitar into its case.

“You too, Mar,” Sophie adds.

“Don’t lie to him, Sophie,” Mitch calls from his drums.

“Hey!”

“Listen guys, listen,” she gathers their attention. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Who?” He prides himself in knowing the majority of his graduating class, his outgoing nature allows him to create connections with all different types of people.

“She’s new.”

That explains it.

“Clementine!” Sophie waves over a girl standing a few paces away, clutching a nearly empty bottle of beer. “Come here!”

The first thing he notices about the girl as she steps closer to them is how short she is. Louis knows he’s not the best judge when it comes to heights (seeing as he’s on the taller side) but it’s adorable, really.

But then she stands before him and all the air leaves his lungs.

“Clementine, this is Louis,” Sophie introduces him.

“Hey.” Clementine waves, a friendly smile on her lips.

His tongue is dry as he attempts to communicate with her without sounding like a fool. It's hard, though, with the way his palms are sweating and his mind racing with the thought:  _she's so pretty what the fuck she's so pretty._

And she really is. She's wearing a simple, black t-shirt and distressed jeans. A hat is perched on her head, but a few curly tendrils of hair escape it to fall around her face. Her eyes are striking, aglow with the golden hue of a flame.

Louis realizes he's staring at her but he can't look away.

The words that finally leave his mouth are: “Hi, I'm Louis.” He holds out a hand.

“Yeah, I got that,” Clementine says as she shakes his hand.

Right. Sophie just said his name.

“In case you forgot.” He laughs sheepishly. Wow, he's doing a terrible job at this whole " _first impressions_ "thing. “Nice to meet you,” he adds then drops her hand, which was very warm in his.

At some point all his band members materialized next to them, standing side by side as Sophie takes the time to introduce everybody.

“This is Marlon.”

“Hey.”

“Mitch.”

Mitch nods.

Sophie continues, “This is Minerva. My sister, if you couldn't tell.”

“Call me Minnie. Everybody else does.”

“And this is Violet!”

Violet stands with her arms crossed. She nods her head in acknowledgement and utters, “Hey.”

“Clementine transferred in on Monday.” Sophie looks to her for confirmation. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Welcome,” Minnie says kindly.

“Starting a new school in the middle of senior year must suck,” Marlon notes.

“I move around a lot so I'm used to starting over,” Clementine explains.

The group bobs their head in understanding.

Out of the blue, Violet says, “I'm gonna go for a smoke.”

“I'll come with you.” Minnie follows Violet as she walks away. “Nice meeting you, Clementine!” She waves.

“Wait, lemme come with!” Marlon calls for the two girls, proceeding after them.

“Stop being a third wheel!”

“What?”

Louis, Mitch, Clementine, and Sophie are left.

“Yo, Mitch!” a guy shouts from the kitchen. “C’mere, you gotta see this shit!”

Mitch immediately departs for the kitchen.

Louis, Sophie, and Clementine stand together.

“I—” Sophie starts, but is cut off when someone calls her name. Her head turns and she gasps. “Oh, Melissa is here! I haven't seen her in forever!” She hurries away.

And then there were two.

Uncharacteristically quiet, that's what Louis is being right now. But he can't help it, his mouth still feels like it's full of cotton. Even though the party is a hubbub of noisy conversation and excited shouting, the awkward silence between the two of them is palpable.

 _Say something, Louis,_ he encourages himself. _Anything!_

The second he opens his mouth, the booming beat of a hip-hop song begins, disrupting his thoughts. The staticky song is extremely loud, playing from a worn-out speaker. The bass makes the walls vibrate.   

Talking is almost impossible now.  

“So, where are you from?” Louis tries his best to shout over the music but it's to no avail.

A knit forms between Clementine’s eyebrows as she leans in, closer to Louis. “Sorry, what?”

A few tipsy party-goers bump into the duo as they pass, squeezing between the warm bodies in the packed living room.

Louis groans inwardly. This isn't going to work. Not here. He can't even hear his own thoughts with the music rattling his skull like this. With a nod of his head and a gesture of his hand, he beckons Clementine to follow him.

The house is relatively large but not impossible to navigate. The staircase is right in the middle of the living room, large and curved, with idling teens leaning against the banisters. Louis maneuvers his way through the crowd effortlessly, parting a sea of drunk kids for Clementine to trail behind him without getting lost in the commotion. Before jogging up the stairs, he bends down and grabs two chilled beer cans out of an open cooler. One for him, one for her.

Moving around upstairs is much easier—and cooler—than downstairs. Only a few people linger in the dark hallway, too caught up in their own conversations to pay them any mind as they pass.

Louis pushes open a set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom, holding one open for Clementine to walk in before him.

A gasp catches his attention and his head whips around to the luxurious canopy bed where two people—who were previously _engaged_ —stare at him with wide eyes.

“Shit!” Louis winces. “Sorry!” He quickly strides across the bedroom to the balcony doors. “Sorry!”

He slips outside with Clementine and makes sure the glass doors are closed with a _shut_ before letting out a breath of relief.

The early February air is brisk, a welcome change to the stuffy, overcrowded atmosphere of indoors. The dark sky stretches over them like a blanket as the neighborhood sleeps. The music from the party is muffled up here, the words of the song barely intelligible. The bass is still strong though—sending tremors through the floor.

Clementine stands a step away from him with her arms crossed, appreciating the view of the spacious, manicured lawn. Louis wordlessly offers her a beer and she takes it, her fingers brushing against his cold ones. He brushes the lingering can’s perspiration that wets his hand off on his jeans and decides to break the ice.

“Before I was so _rudely_ interrupted by Drake,” he smiles, “I was asking where you're from.”

“Georgia,” she says.

“Georgia, huh?” He cracks open his can and leans his back against the balcony railing. “You don't have an accent.”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Well, I know this girl named Ruby and she's from Georgia too, but she’s got the whole southern accent going on.” Louis swallows a quick gulp of beer before continuing, “she's always like ‘ _Hey, sug, how’re ya doin’?_ ’” His impression of Ruby is terrible. “Y’know, that sorta thing. I just assumed everyone from Georgia sounded like that.”

Clem’s lips quirk up. The brim of her hat covers some of her expression, but he saw that semblance of a smile and it lights something within him—bright and hot.

“Not everyone.” She shrugs. “I moved around a lot when I was pretty young so that could be why I don't sound like,” she gestures vaguely, “ _that_.”

Louis snorts. “How do we compare to all the other places you've lived in? Since you're so well-traveled and all.”

“I’ve only been here for about two weeks so I can't say much.” Clem takes a sip of her beer. “I think the people here are nicer, though—compared to my old school.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I've never been to a party like this before. No one ever offered their house to be trashed by a bunch of drunk teenagers.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That's surprising,” he says with sarcastic incredulity.

Her arms wrap around herself tighter. “Either that, or I was never invited.”

Louis forces his face not to frown, but it upsets him to think about people purposely excluding Clementine. He met her ten minutes ago but there's already so much he'd invite her to.

“Josh’s parents work internationally.” He crosses his legs, an arm behind him propping him up. “He basically lives by himself so he throws these fun little shindigs every now and again.”

“Does he clean up the house by himself too?”

Louis shakes his head, his dreads moving with the movement. “His parents order cleaning services to upkeep the house. He usually has the party the day before the maids show up to clean.”

Clem scoffs. “Convenient.”

Suddenly, a biting wind blows, making her shiver. Dressed in just a t-shirt, she rubs an arm in an attempt to rid herself of the goosebumps.

In a swift motion, Louis slides his jean jacket off his frame. “Here.” He offers the jacket with an outstretched arm. “Take my jacket.”

“No, no, I'm okay.” She’s still shivering. “I left my jacket inside, I'll just go back and get it.”

An eyebrow lifts. “You really wanna maneuver your way through that crowd again?”

Clem looks less than excited about the prospect of being pushed and shoved.

“Here.” Louis offers the jacket once more, holding it open by the shoulders.

She glances at the jacket, then at him. “Won't you be cold?”

He tries to ignore the way his heart quivers at the eye contact. “I'll be fine.” He smiles. “I'm a warm person.”

She sighs. “Okay.” Taking a few steps until she's in front of him, she keeps her head low, her hat covering her face.

Louis drapes the jacket over her shoulders, adjusting it so it falls somewhat normally over her—which is hard because it's much larger than she is. His cheeks start to warm up at how cute she looks in his clothes.

“Warm—” He clears his throat when his voice cracks. _Get yourself together, Louis!_ “Warmer?” His second attempt is much better.

She clutches the collar to keep the jacket snug around her. “Yeah. Thank you.”

The pulsating bass from inside the house fills the few moments of silence that transpire.

Clementine leans forward on the balcony railing, her forearms supporting her weight. “You were really great tonight. Everyone was. Your whole band.” She averts her gaze, something in the middle-distance holding her attention. “Yeah,” she finishes awkwardly and drinks her beer.

Louis is thankful he gave his jacket to her because his skin is burning with the praise. He had no idea who Clementine was when he was performing, but now he can’t imagine playing for anything else but her praise. “Thank you!” He grins widely.

“How long have you guys been playing together?” she asks.

“Since freshman year,” he replies. He mimics Clem’s posture over the railing. “Four long and _very loud_ years.”

“Wow. It sounds like you've been playing together for way longer than that.”

“That's because we've known each other since we were kids.”

“And everyone just _happened_ to be musicians?” She fixes Louis with a disbelieving expression.

“It was meant to be.” He smirks. When Clem’s appearance doesn't change he falters. “Okay, not everyone. I taught Marlon—the blond guy with the mullet,” he gestures to his own head when describing his best friend, “how to play guitar. Violet, the blonde girl, knew how to play bass a little. I just gave her some pointers. Mitch, our drummer, has an older brother who is _also_ a drummer in a band so you can fill in the blanks there.” He plays with the tab on his beer can. It makes a _twonk_ sound every time he fiddles with it. “Minnie was just born with an amazing voice. She’s the one who makes us sound good.”

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“You told me about your friends.” Her golden eyes glint with curiosity. “What about you?”

Louis struggles not to get lost in her stare. “I’m…” He swallows. His throat is so dry all of a sudden. “I'm on the keyboard, usually. Sometimes I’ll hop on rhythm guitar if the song calls for it, but piano is my first love.”

“You're a multi-instrumentalist,” Clem says, impressed. “That's really cool.”

“What can I say? I love music.” Louis shrugs. “Do you play?”

“I played the kazoo in fourth grade.” She smirks. “Does that count?”

“Absolutely!” He laughs, the lively sound echoing in the night air. “Hey, between you and me,” his voice is low as he inclines his head toward Clementine, “we have an opening in Troubled Youth and I think a kazoo player of your caliber could really take us to the next level.”

It's her turn to laugh. Fluttering butterflies erupt in Louis’ stomach, overjoyed by the accomplishment of getting a laugh out of her. He could get used to this feeling.

“I don't think—”

“Louis?” The balcony doors swing open and out steps Sophie, effectively bursting Louis and Clem’s bubble of solitude. “There you are!” She’s at his side in an instant. “I was looking all over for you.”

Louis stands to his full height. “Hey, Sophie.” He greets her with a friendly smile, a bit disappointed that his alone time with Clementine was cut short.

“I turned around and you were gone.” She rests her hand on his upper arm. “It's so cold out here. Are you okay?” Her flushed face is full of concern.

“I'm fine! I'm out here with Clementine.” Louis nods his head in the direction of the girl standing behind Sophie, swimming in his jacket.

Surprised, Sophie whips around to face Clem. “Oh my gosh! Hey! I didn't see you!” she exclaims, words high-pitched and saccharine.

Clem shifts in her spot, meekly raising a hand in a wave. “Hey.”

Sophie turns back to Louis as if Clementine suddenly evaporated. “Come back to the party.” Her hand slides down his arm to wrap around his forearm. “Erin and Malik are looking for you.”

Louis opens his mouth but then quickly snaps it shut. His eyes find Clem’s, wordlessly asking her to come with.

She holds his stare for a few seconds, but when her eyes flicker to Sophie she says, “I should head home.”

 _No!_ shouts Louis’ mind. _Not yet!_

“So soon?” Sophie asks her. “The party’s just getting started!”

“Yeah, I told my dad I'd be out but not my little brother. He's probably looking for me.”

“I totally get it. Minnie and I have a little brother too.”

“I can walk you home, if you want,” Louis offers, taking a half-step towards her. “It’s late and you—”

“I'll be okay,” she cuts him off. “I live right outside the neighborhood. I can walk.”

“Are you sure—”

“Text me when you get home, okay?” Sophie interrupts, ending their back and forth. A fleeting smile is what she gifts Clem before tugging on Louis’ arm and leading him to the door. “Come _on_ , everyone is playing beer pong and I want you on my team.”

“But I suck at beer pong,” he says.

“Me too!” She giggles. “We can suck together.”

Sophie flounces through the balcony doors but Louis hesitates behind her. He glances over his shoulder at Clementine, wearing an apologetic expression.

Clementine lifts her shoulders in a relaxed shrug and offers him a good-natured smile. “See you later?”

Louis’ heart jumps at the question. She wants to see him _again._ “Definitely.” He grins.

When the door closes after him he’s not disappointed; no, not at all, as Clementine remains on the balcony nestled in his jacket.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's a wrap for the first chapter! there's a lot more in store for this story so stick around because it'll be fun. i don't have a set update schedule, because LIFE, but i'm going to try and update every two weeks. i have it all outlined so all i have to do is go in and flesh it out. 
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting, [come ask me for some headcanons](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) i have for our lovely teens here. 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu?si=HFKs51SbQ_mWit5VWdMb7Q)
> 
> thank you for reading! <333


	2. crush on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me start this by saying THANK YOU to everyone who left a comment on the first chapter! knowing that you enjoyed it and wanted more made me sooooo happy. without future ado, here's chapter two! 
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 

 

 

 

_Oh my heart grew active_  
_When you came into view_

_"crush on you" - Elijah Who_

 

“Hi! Welcome to Mad Beef, can I take your order?”

“Yes, hi, I’ll have a Mad Chicken Burger with a large fry...”

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. The restaurant is slow—few people trickle in and out of the establishment with their cravings in tow, varying from worn out mothers with hungry children to young adults longing for some comfort food. Once they get their orders, some remain within the burger joint, sitting and munching on their lunch as a pop rock song plays from the speakers.

Louis sits in a booth near the window while Marlon lounges across from him, dressed in his Mad Beef hat—with a little cow on it—and matching apron, chewing on a burger of his own.

“Is this how we’re spending my lunch break?” Marlon speaks through a mouth of half-chewed beef. “Really?”

“Huh?” Louis lifts his head from the small notebook he was scribbling in.

“That’s a fry.” Marlon reaches across the table and plucks a fry out of the container on Louis’ tray. “I’m taking a fry every time you ignore me.”

Louis crinkles his nose and gives Marlon a look as he moves his fries closer to himself. “I’m not ignoring you.” He sets his pen down. “I had this idea for a song so I was writing it down.”

“Oh?” Marlon rests his arm over the top of the booth and tilts his head. “What’s it about?”

Louis twists his mouth into a grimace. “ _Mmm,_ it’s nothing.”

A huff of laughter escapes Marlon. “No seriously, what is it about?”

Occasionally an interesting person will saunter past the window, often times walking a cute dog. Like now, an extravagant older woman with a large poodle strut down the sidewalk in matching jackets.

Louis points at the window. “Dude, look at that dog.”

He's not trying to change the topic. Nope.

Marlon doesn't even turn his head. “Don't try to change the topic.”

“I'm not!” Louis jabs a finger at the window. “You're missing this stupidly cute poodle and this outrageous grandma. Their jackets have _rhinestones_ on them. It's crazy. C’mon, look!”

It happens fast. Marlon grabs not only Louis’ notebook, but also another fry. By the time Louis realizes it, it's too late.

“Hey!” He frowns and makes a half-hearted attempt to take it back.

Marlon holds it out of Louis’ reach while his eyes scan the scribbled sentences. His mouth splits into an amused grin as he reads. “Oh, this is hilarious.”

“Listen—it's a work in progress,” Louis tries to defend himself. “You can't rush genius.” He sniffs.

“This is _far_ from genius, Lou.” Marlon chuckles and closes the notebook, sliding it across the table. “No offense.”

“Offense taken.”

The door to Mad Beef swings open and a family of six pour in, kids yelling and giggling loudly at the terribly made cow sculpture near the entrance.

“So, who's the lucky person you're writing this  _heartfelt_ song for?” Marlon asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

Louis opens his mouth but then shuts it. Telling Marlon about his crush on Clementine would absolutely set him up for disaster. That's his best friend, sure. They've known each other since they were kids, yes. They know almost everything about each other, which in turn, makes it _very_ easy to rag on each other. And nothing gives Marlon greater joy than joshing him.

If Louis wants _any_ chance with Clementine, he has to be discreet about his feelings.

“What if I said… it's about…” He draws in a long, dramatic breath. “You.”

“I'd say I'm flattered, but I don't think I have,”—Marlon holds up fingers to make air quotes—“ _‘eyes like the sun_ ’ or _‘curly hair that frames my face like a painting.’_ My eyes are more like an ocean, don't you think? _”_ He laughs when Louis narrows his eyes at him. “That sounds like the new girl.”

_Play dumb!_ his brain shouts, desperately clinging to some form of a plan to keep Marlon from putting two and two together.

Louis contorts his face in mock-confusion. “Who's the new girl?”

“You know! Sophie introduced us to her last night. Short, curly hair, _cute_ …” Marlon searches for any sign of emotion on Louis’ face. All he sees is a slightly clenched jaw—so he goes in for the kill. “I wonder if she's single.”

Louis cracks immediately. “Alright!” He squeezes his eyes shut and shoves his dreads away from his forehead, burying his head in his arms. “It's about her,” he mumbles.

His plan lasted five minutes. Possibly three.

“I knew it!” Marlon wears a triumphant smile. “Dude, you met her _yesterday_ and you're crushing on her _already?_ ”

Louis picks his head up and shrugs helplessly. “I don't know! She was—she was really nice! And—and she laughed at my Ruby impression!” He pauses for a second before adding, “Sorta!”

“You like her because she sorta laughed at your terrible impressions.” Marlon blinks in disbelief. “ _I've_ sorta laughed at your impressions too. Do you wanna get married?” he teases.

“That's not the only thing I like about her!”

“It has to be! You don't know her!”

“Yes I do!”

“Okay.” Marlon nods. “What's her last name?”

Silence envelopes the table. The speakers are playing a top 40 hit now. Louis furrows his eyebrows.

Shit.

Clementine… Clementine… _something._

Maybe Marlon has a point. He has a lot to learn about Clementine.

He refuses to give him that gratification, though. “It doesn’t matter,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Knowing her last name doesn't matter?” Marlon asks.

“Nope.”

“And why's that?”

“Because it'll be mine eventually.” Louis smirks.

Marlon’s groan can be heard from the other side of the restaurant. A guy who is sitting two tables away plucks out an earphone and glances at them. “Oh, _gosh_. God—that was… You're so lame, I can't believe it sometimes.”

Louis laughs at his friend's reaction to his joke, smugly popping a fry into his mouth.

“Ugh. _Anyway_ , you just proved my point. You don't know her at all. I bet you this crush won't last till Monday.” Marlon leans back in his booth. “Actually, I won't even call it a crush—it's infatuation.”

“Call it whatever you want. I know how I feel, and I know I like her.” Louis plays with the edge of his notebook, thumbing the corner of the pages. “Clementine is different. I think we could be good friends.”

“ _Friends_? That's it?” Marlon asks, skeptic.

Louis bobs his head. “Yes, _friends_.” He puts particular emphasis on the word. Of course, it'd be nice to be more than friends with Clementine—no, scratch that, it'd be amazing. Even so, that's not his priority. With everything that comes during senior year, just getting to know her is a privilege in his mind. “Whatever happens from there, happens.” He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “ _C'est la vie._ ”

“You know I don't understand French,” Marlon says.

“Dude, everyone knows what that means.”

“Whatever.”

A brief quiet passes between them before Louis speaks up. “How's Brody, by the way?”

Warning glows in Marlon’s eyes. “...She's fine.”

The two boys exchange a look across the table. Louis smiles at Marlon’s bothered expression. Bringing up his on-and-off again girlfriend slash friend with benefits always strikes a nerve with the blond.

“Don't start.”

Louis holds up his hands defensively. “I just thought I'd ask since we were talking about infatuation and crushes that don't last more than a night.”

“That's completely different.”

“Right, right. It's only infatuation when _you_ say it is. Got it.” The sarcasm is strong.

“You're—”

“Marlon!” A booming voice calls from the front of the restaurant, behind the counter. “Break time is over!”

Marlon twists around to respond over the top of the booth. “Coming, sir!”

“Saved by the manager,” Louis mumbles.

Marlon turns back to face Louis, pointing a finger at him. “I'll get you back for that comment.” Before he slides out of the booth, he rolls up the wrapping for his burger in a fist and throws it at his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah.” It hits Louis in the shoulder then lands on his lap. He picks it up, puts it on his tray, and shouts after him, “Just don't be late to Minnie’s tonight!”

“I’ll be there!”

 

\---

 

Minnie’s garage is cozy. Bikes line the walls and rugs are strewn over extension cords scattered over the concrete floor. There's a small space heater in the corner warming the surrounding air with everyone huddled in the middle of the garage with their instruments.

The majority of them are on their phones, scrolling down some social network or texting somebody. Louis sits on a stool chair, mindlessly pressing a few keys on his keyboard. Sophie is next to him sitting on an old speaker, legs crossed, looking at her friend’s pictures on Instagram.

“Mom made brownies!” Minnie exclaims, breaking the dull atmosphere of before. She steps down the threshold that connects the garage to the entryway of their home holding a plate.

Mitch’s head perks up. He looks at Minnie expectantly.

“ _Regular_ brownies,” Minnie says to Mitch. “Our mom’s cool but she's not _that_ cool.”

Mitch’s attention returns to his phone.

Violet pockets her cell phone then asks, “Now that Minnie is back, what are we doing tonight, Lou?”

“Nothing crazy,” Louis responds. “I just want to practice a few of our newer songs—everyone sounded great last night but there's some chord progressions I want to straighten out.”

“If we sounded great why do we need to practice?” Mitch questions. “Not gonna lie, I'm still a bit hungover.”

“ _Becaaaause_ ,” Louis drags out the word, “some of you were a little off beat during the chorus of a specific song… I won't name names though!”

“Who was it?” Minnie asks, setting the brownies on an unoccupied folding chair.

“Probably Violet,” Mitch says.

“Fuck off, Mitch,” Violet retorts.

“See, this is why I won't say who it was! We'll just play the blame game and that's so unconstruct—”

“Was it you, Lou?” Marlon interrupts.

Louis’ brows draw together at the accusation. How could he be off beat on a song _he_ wrote and composed?! “Nope,” he says. “Actually, the name rhymes with _carlon_.”

“It was Marlon!” Minnie throws her head back and laughs. Marlon frowns.

“And Mitch,” Louis mumbles and shrugs.

“What the fuck!” Mitch exclaims.

“Okay! It's whatever! We were still awesome, it doesn't matter!” Louis attempts to placate his two irked bandmates. “That's why we're gonna practice tonight and then we'll continue to kick ass as the best band in Ericson, and then the world.”

“That's a pretty big jump,” Violet says.

Louis points at Violet, enthusiastic. “Yes it is! And we're gonna make it happen!” He claps his hands. “So let's do this!”

Everyone mutters an “Alright” under their breaths and prepares their instruments—bringing guitar straps over their heads and clutching drumsticks and microphones.

Marlon says nonchalantly, “What about the new song?”

Louis' eyes snap to Marlon. His face screams ' _What are you doing?!'_ although his mouth is tightly closed.

“What song?”

“A new song? Why don't we know about this?”

“You wrote a new song?”

The questions fly at him from each of his bandmates—even Sophie is giving him a confused look.

Louis laughs nervously. “It's nowhere near ready.”

“C’mon, you've never written anything and not shared it with us!”

“Yeah, what's the big deal?”

“Just tell us, Lou.”

The peer pressure is getting to him. It was one thing for Marlon to find out about his crush on Clementine, but he'll never live it down if _everyone_ finds out. He scratches the back of his head. “I—I don't even remember the lyrics.”

Hopefully they buy that lie.

“At least tell us what it's about!” Minnie insists.

“Or _who_ ,” Marlon sneakily adds in.

_Dammit, Marlon!_ Louis shoots daggers at him with a glare and mouths, “ _Shut up!”_

But it's too late. An explosion erupts in Minnie’s garage as Violet, Minnie, Sophie, _and_ Mitch yell simultaneously, “ _Who?!”_

“Your new song is about someone?” Sophie’s confused mien has turned into a curious one. Her eyes are boring holes into Louis’ face.

“It wasn't really a song… It was just an idea!” Louis asserts. “It'll probably never see the light of day!”

“Just tell us who it's about,” Mitch says.

“No one!” Louis nearly pleas. “It's about no one!”

“Is it about the new girl we met yesterday?” When Violet says this, the garage goes quiet. No one speaks.

Is he really that easy to read?

“What was her name again?” Minnie taps her chin and looks up at the ceiling. “Cle—Cle… something.”

Should he just bite the bullet? He's already dug his grave, might as well jump in.

“Clementine.” Sophie and Louis utter the name at the same time. The only difference is that Sophie says it like realization just dawned on her, meanwhile Louis says it like he's surrendering information after a long interrogation.

They share a quick glance before Mitch steals their attention. “You wrote a song about some chick you just met?” He's having a hard time grasping that.

“Is it really _that_ surprising? Lou is a hopeless romantic,” Violet states.

“What?” A scandalized expression appears on Louis’ face. “No I'm not!”

“Yeah, you kind of are.”

“Kind of? More like the definition.”

“You wrote a poem for our third grade teacher because she would give you scented stickers on your homework.”

“They always smelt like strawberries.” Louis sighs, wistful. He shakes his head to gather his thoughts. “No, wait, this is completely off-topic—not to mention a _complete_ personal attack. I won't stand for it—we didn't come here to discuss my love life.”

“Your _nonexistent_ love life,” Mitch corrects.

“Thanks, Mitch.”

“Give Lou a break.” Marlon steps in and Louis smiles. He then says, “The song was terrible anyway,” and the previous smile fades into a sour look.

“You read it?” Minnie gasps, hand on Violet’s shoulder as she stands beside her.

“Part of it. You'd be singing, _‘I need some of your vitamin C!’_ ” Marlon proves why he's not the lead singer of Troubled Youth. His scratchy singing voice causes the group to shake with laughter.

Even Louis is laughing. “Yeah, okay, the lyrics were pretty bad.”

“Wait, lemme try to sing that.” Minnie opens her mouth and says the exact same line Marlon just said, but instead of sounding like an animal who just got its foot stepped on, she sounds like a superstar.  

The laughter dies out as everyone stares at Minnie with stupefied faces.

“What?” Minnie grabs her arms, insecure.

“Why do you sound so good even when you're joking?” Marlon pouts.

“Because she's talented,” Violet replies, “unlike you.”

Marlon rolls his eyes while Minnie chuckles.

“You gonna go after that Clementine girl?” Mitch directs his question at Louis, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers.

Louis sighs, silently hoping they had moved on. “I mean—I'd love to get to know her, but she's kinda outta my league.”

“Yeah, she is,” Violet confirms.

“That's where you're supposed to go, _‘Aw, Lou, cheer up! You're an awesome guy, you guys would be great together!’_ ” Louis’ voice and gestures are excessively animated, so much so that he accidentally smacks his hand on the edge of his keyboard. He hisses in pain.

“I'm just saying.”

“Well I say go for it!” Minnie says. “She's new—I'm sure she could use a friend.” She shoots him an exaggerated wink. “Or more.”

A tired breath blows out past Louis’ lips as he buries his head in his hands. Why are his friends like this? This is why he didn't want them to find out! They'll never shut up about it!

Just as Louis is plotting ways to keep his friends and Clementine from seeing each other ever again, Sophie rejoins the conversation by saying, “I could put in a good word for you. We have 7th period together.”

Louis looks at her. He's known Sophie for years. She's sweet, she's considerate, and she's trustworthy. He doesn't know the next time he'll cross paths with Clementine. She's not in his homeroom, not in any of his classes, hell, the only reason he met her was because of Sophie. She's always supported him any way she could. What harm would it do to let her—talk him up, per se? “Really? You'd do that?”

“Of course.” Her mouth curves into a kind smile. “I like Clementine! I think she’d get along with all of us.”

“There you go!” Marlon extends a hand toward Sophie then Louis. “Soph’ll be your wingwoman. You can't go wrong with that.”

“Sophie _is_ really friendly,” Minnie agrees. “And persuasive.”

“Alright,” Louis says, going along with it mainly to get this conversation to end. “Thanks, Soph.”

Sophie nods. “Anything for you, Lou.” She pats his knee and gives him another smile.

He nods in return.

For the rest of the night, he can't help but notice Sophie is watching him when she thinks he's not paying attention, observing him with a fixed gaze.

When he does look at her, she’ll raise her eyebrows in question, and when he shakes his head, she'll focus elsewhere—only a few minutes have to pass before she goes right back to studying him.

__Maybe there's something on my face,_ _he tells himself. Louis doesn't put much thought into it after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know some of you might be like "where's the other ericson kids!!" but don't worry because a _bunch_ of them are showing up next chapter. we are also getting a full clem pov next chapter! clouis moments are also coming soon so stay tuned :D 
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come ask me for some headcanons](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) i have for our lovely teens here.
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)
> 
> thank you for reading! <333


	3. roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time you guys comment or leave an ask i literally start tearing up! YOU ARE ALL SO SWEET AND I LOVE YOU ALL! thank you for saying how much you're enjoying this fic, it means more than you know. this chap is for you! enjoy! ♡
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 _Cause I've got tired eyes and nothing to sink into_  
_Somewhere to belong,  
Heaven knows I could find my place to be_

_"Roots" - Billie Marten_

 

“How's school treating you, sweet pea?” Lee stands in front of the stove—attired in a dress shirt and slacks—attending to a pan of scrambled eggs. They sizzle as Lee stirs them with a spatula. The smell of freshly cooked eggs wafts throughout the kitchen.

The new house is barren. It leaves Clementine with a feeling of longing for something she does not know. _Here we go again,_ her forlorn mind will whisper to her when she wakes in a room with white walls and spotless floors. No sign of personality, no indication that this is where she resides—save for the few suitcases and boxes pushed into the corner. She always tells herself that she'll unpack tomorrow, but then tomorrow comes and she'll have already dissuaded herself.

What's the point when in a few months she'll have to take everything down to move to a new location?

That's why her room upstairs has remained in its empty state for three weeks now. She doesn't know how long they'll be staying in this town, so why bother trying to get comfortable?

Clementine sits at the small table situated next to the window. The kitchen is reasonably small, connected to the hallway through a wide archway. Lots of natural light brightens the room, the early morning sun casts long shadows.

Pushing around the few home fries she has left on her plate, she responds to Lee’s question. “It's fine so far.”

“That's good.” Lee nods. “Kids treating you well?”

“Yeah. No complaints,” Clem says.

“You were invited to a party a few nights ago, right?” He cuts off the stove and steps up next to her with the hot pan. “How was that?” He shovels some eggs onto her plate, then onto the empty plate next to hers.

“It was fun,” she replies. She should've told Lee she’s not super hungry. “There was live music by this band. They were really good.” A fleeting image of Troubled Youth appears in her head. She had their songs stuck in her head for hours after the party.

“Didn't think kids your age still listened to live music,” Lee says airily. “I'm glad you had fun.” He places the pan in sink and turns on the faucet. “Did you drink?”

Clem chews on some of her eggs. “I had one or two bottles of beer.”

“Okay. You remember what we talked about, right?”

“Yes, Lee.”

“What’d you agree to?” He opens the refrigerator to grab A.J’s lunchbox.

“If I'm somewhere and people are drinking, don't get into anyone's car,” Clem recites.

Lee raises his eyebrows. “Even if?”

She sighs. He always makes her repeat this!  “Even if they say they _haven't_ been drinking.”

“Good.” He ruffles her curls as he passes by her.

“Lee!” she exclaims, shooing his hands away. “My hair…”

“What?” His forehead creases. “It looks fine.”

Clem smiles and fixes the loose strands, tucking them behind her ears. Of course it looks fine to him. She can't name the amount of times he'd struggle with doing her hair when she was a little girl. Even putting it into a simple side ponytail was a challenge for him; her school photos are evidence of that.

When she was fourteen, she decided to cut her hair very short in a spur-of-the-moment decision—it ended at her jaw. She liked the haircut and had planned on going back to the salon to keep it that short, but they moved away a month before her next appointment. Her hair has been growing back ever since.

She got away with wearing hats to cover her—sometimes—unruly curls, but hats aren't allowed to be worn inside Ericson High. She already got yelled at for wearing one on her first day, she doesn't want that to happen again.

“Where's A.J?” Lee asks, adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror.

“He's still sleeping,” Clem says. Before she came downstairs, she peeked in A.J’s room and the kid was knocked out on his bed.

Lee huffs, “I woke that boy up thirty minutes ago.” He grabs the railing at the bottom of the stairs and shouts, “Alvin Junior! You have fifteen minutes to get down here! You have school today!” He mutters to himself, “If he makes me late to work _again_ …”

Clementine takes that as her cue to get going. Lee and A.J usually butt heads in the morning and she doesn't want to be around to hear A.J stomping his feet all over the place because he doesn't want to go to school.

“I'm gonna head out, Lee.” She gets up from her chair. “You can have the rest of my breakfast.”

“You’re finished?” he asks, standing in the archway.

“Yup, I'm full.” She moves past him, grabbing her book bag that she left at the bottom of the stairs.

“Goodness, Clem, what's inside of your bag?” Lee questions, bewildered. “Is A.J actually in _there_?”

Clem looks at her bag, hanging from her hand, and remembers that she stuffed Louis’ jacket in there this morning on the off chance she'll see him at school today.

Lee didn't see her when she got in Friday night, snug in Louis’ jean jacket, with her own jacket wrapped around her waist. Saying anything about it now would evoke _way_ too many questions out of Lee, the main one being: “Who is this boy and why haven't you told me about him?”

To be honest, she doesn't really know much about him herself. He's a nice guy who's in a band, plays a few instruments, does a _questionable_ country accent… and that's about it.

So to avoid a grilling from her dad, Clementine utters, “I have a lot of books in here. English, bio, history, math,” she lists her main subjects and takes her jacket from the coat closet. “They all give us these _huge_ textbooks.”

“Wow. Well, when you get to school put them in your locker, okay? I don't want you hurting your back lugging all those books around,” Lee says.

“I will,” she affirms.

“Alright, have a good day.” He holds out his arms.

They've been doing this since Clem was tiny and would only reach his belt. Now at seventeen, she reaches his chest—her growth spurt wasn't very dramatic.

She hugs Lee. The familiar smell of fresh wood combined with spicy mint from his cologne never fails to comfort her. He hugs back tightly before letting go.

Unexpectedly, A.J appears at the top of the stairs. “Bye, Clem.” He waves at her while sleepily rubbing one eye with a fist.

“Bye, goofball.” She smiles and waves back to her little brother.

She slips on her sneakers and leaves out the door. She overhears Lee scolding A.J, “Why are you still in your pajamas? You're going to have to eat breakfast in the car at this rate…” before she shuts the door behind her.

The crisp morning air bites at her nose as she descends down the front stairs of her house. Reaching in her coat pocket, she takes out her white earbuds and plugs them in her ears. She doesn't search for a song when she connects the wire to her phone; no, she continues down the sidewalk in a relaxing silence.  

The noises change in every town she inhabits, but the one thing that stays the same is the quiet.

 

\---

 

The bus ride to school is okay—except for the rude businessman who sits next to her (when there are _other_ seats open!) and yaps into his cellphone like it's six in the evening rather than eight in the morning.

Just one of the glamorous perks of riding public transport.

Clem simply looks out the window and tries to ignore him, but it's hard not to listen when he keeps going on and on about cash flow projections. Whatever that means.

When she arrives at school she heads straight for her locker. It surprises her when she doesn’t see her locker-neighbor—an eccentric girl with thick-rimmed glasses named Sarah. It’s probably for the best though. It means Clem doesn’t have to awkwardly interrupt her morning ramblings to make it to homeroom on time.

Because of that, she takes her time. She hangs Louis’ jacket on the hook inside her locker and straightens out a wrinkle with her hand. Should she hang it or fold it? Does it really matter?

 _It's such a nice jacket,_ she thinks, enjoying the way the denim feels underneath her fingers. She knows it's not a new jacket, it's definitely worn if the frayed hems of the sleeves are any indication. Still, it was very comfortable to wear; warm and oversized, her two favorite adjectives when it comes to clothing.

She wonders if this is his favorite jacket. If so, why did he give it to her? Did he realize she still had it on when he left with Sophie or did he not notice? What if he thinks she stole it?

These intrusive thoughts plague her mind all throughout her morning classes. She'll be in class, listening and diligently taking notes, and then without warning her brain will yell at her: _you definitely stole his jacket!_

When her math teacher—a balding old man who gains pleasure from embarrassing his students—calls on her to answer his equation, she gets it wrong because she wasn't paying attention. He looks smug when a few students snicker at Clem’s obvious misstep.

 _Asshole,_ she thinks darkly, glaring at his back as he writes more numbers on the whiteboard.

She calms herself down with a deep breath. There's no point in stressing about the jacket. Ericson is huge, sure, but there's only _so_ many students here. She'll run into Louis again. She has to!

However, it doesn't stop her from eyeing the numerous students that pass her in the hallways as she moves to her next class. Her eyes automatically land on all the tall guys, standing at least a head above the rest of the student population. Half of them look nothing like Louis—they don't share a single one of his physical attributes. The other half do share _some_ similarities, but Clem knows they aren't Louis—there's a unique air about him that no one else possesses.

By the time lunch rolls around, she all but forgets about the jacket, too hungry to even try and spot him in the cafeteria.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows allows buckets of early afternoon sun to pour in the spacious lunchroom. Tables are spread out across the gleaming linoleum floor, with brick columns jutting up from the floor sparingly—posters for student events and clubs are taped on them. A small number of televisions are mounted on the walls, displaying the menu for the day or a public service announcement for the school. Clem passes one on her way to join the line to enter the buffet-style lunch area—it flashes these words in bold text: _“Attention all seniors! It's not too late to order your class ring! Visit Mrs. Alfonsi to learn more!”_

The theme of today’s lunch is pasta. Students are encouraged to create their own pasta bowls. They can mix in however many ingredients to their hearts’ content. There are also premade bowls for the less creative, and even the default pizza for those who don't want to branch out with their lunch selections.

Clementine picks up a premade bowl—that has similar ingredients to when Lee makes spaghetti—and an apple with a canned iced tea. She pays for her lunch and is about to go find an unoccupied table when she bumps shoulders with someone.

Clem opens her mouth to issue an apology but the stranger beats her to it.

“Sorry, sug, didn't see you there!”

In that instant, an alarm blares in her head. For a second, she's transported back on that balcony with Louis as he tries—and fails—to speak in a southern accent similar to the girl she just bumped into.

_“I just assumed everyone from Georgia sounded like that.”_

Instead of responding normally and accepting her apology, Clem blurts out, “Are you from Georgia?”

The stranger with red hair and rosy cheeks to match is hesitant, but she eventually answers, “...Yes...”

Clem can see her walls going up, ever so slowly, so she smiles in a friendly manner and says, “Me too.”

“Really?” She's excited now.

“Yeah.”

The redhead from Georgia grins. “How cool is that!” Her grin gradually changes into a pensive frown. “Come to think of it, I've never seen you ‘round here before.”

“I'm new,” Clem explains. “I transferred in last week.”

“Oh!” Her mouth makes a perfect circle. “I knew you didn't look familiar!” She takes one hand off her tray and places it on her chest. “My name’s Ruby.”

“I'm Clementine.”

“Well, Clementine, it's nice to meet you!”

“Same here.”

The girls step out of the way for a group of hefty footballers.

“Say, you sittin’ with anyone?” Ruby asks.

Clem glances around the cafeteria and sees nothing but groups of people conversing in their cliques. It's been two weeks and she still barely knows anyone. “No, not really,” she answers, slightly dejected.

“Would you like to sit with me an’ a few of my friends?” Ruby offers.

Clem looks at her, taken aback. “Yeah, sure, if it's okay…?”

“Of course it's okay, silly. C’mon, follow me. We usually sit right over here!”

Ruby leads Clem to a table not too far from where they were just standing. As they approach the table—nestled behind a brick column—Clem spots two boys sitting across from each other.

“We got someone new joinin’ us today!” Ruby announces, setting her tray down next to the guy with tightly-coiled hair.

“Who?” A bored looking guy asks.

“Her name's Clementine—” Ruby pauses when she realizes Clem is hovering behind her, unsure where to sit. “Come sit across from me, Clementine, next to Aasim—don't worry he won't bite ya.”

Clem does just that, placing her tray down next to the boy Ruby called Aasim and sitting down.

No one speaks for an uncomfortable minute. The boys merely stare at her, nonplussed.

Ruby decides to say something about it. “Would y’all stop starin’ at her like she's a ghost! Introduce yourselves!”

That seems to shake them up.

“I'm Omar,” the guy sitting next to Ruby says, giving her a quick wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clem repeats.

Ruby and Omar focus on Aasim, waiting.

Aasim shrinks under their pointed looks. “What?” he questions defensively.

“Are you gonna introduce yourself?” Omar asks.

Aasim sighs and turns his head toward Clem. She only catches his side-profile as he avoids eye contact. “I'm Aasim.”

 _What's his deal?_ she thinks to herself. “Nice to meet you,” is what she says instead.

Aasim nods.

“Anyway,” Ruby redirects the conversation, “any particular reason your family decided to move here, Clementine?”

“My dad’s a business consultant so we travel a lot. The current company he's working for is located up here, so, here we are.”

“ _Ooooh._ I take it you've lived in many places, then?” Ruby rips the plastic off her fork.

“I've lived in at least three states, and then a bunch of cities and towns within them.”

“Lived anywhere interesting?” Omar asks.

“I lived in this town in Virginia where it's illegal to keep a skunk as a pet,” Clem says.

Three confused faces look at her.

“Who'd keep a skunk as a pet?” Aasim’s brows are furrowed.

“I don't know.” Clem shrugs. “But it's illegal.”

“There’s definitely some weird person _somewhere_ who’s lookin’ to keep a skunk as a pet,” Ruby says.

“Hopefully they don't live in Virginia,” Omar notes.

Everyone lets out a short laugh.

Unexpectedly, Ruby says, “Movin’ around like that must be tough.”

Clem nods. “It's not easy. It's like… every time I start to get comfortable somewhere, I have to suddenly pack up and leave everything behind.” She doesn't mention how hard it becomes to makes friends when you're constantly abandoning them. She doesn't mention how she never knows how to answer the question: _“Where are you from?”_ because she has no idea what to say. Georgia is her default response because that's where she was born, technically, it’s where she's “from”. But she moved out of Georgia when she was _eight_ and has never been back. She's lived in numerous other places since then, but not a single one felt like home, like the place she's _from._

“That's hard,” Omar says.

“I'm sorry, sug.” Ruby reaches out and places her hand over Clem’s in a compassionate gesture.

Clem appreciates the empathy they show her, it warms her skin and allows her to loosen her shoulders.

“I moved out of Georgia when I was thirteen. I couldn't begin to tell ya how upset I was. I thought nowhere could be a home to me like Georgia was.” Ruby sighs, doleful. “But when I came to Ericson and made friends, mainly these two dorks,”—she grins fondly at Omar and Aasim and they smile back—“I realized that your home doesn't have to be a place. If you're around people that love ya, you're always home.”

An image of Lee and A.J manifests in Clementine’s mind.

“Ericson is a nice school with nice people,” Ruby continues. “Well, _most_ of ‘em are nice. There's the occasional asshole ev’ry now an’ again,” she mutters audibly.

“It's okay, you can say Kyle,” Omar says.

“No! I don't even wanna speak his terrible name!” Ruby waves her hands like she's fanning away all bad thoughts. She inhales and exhales slowly. “So, Clem, have you met anyone yet—besides us?”

“Yeah, I've met a few people.” Clem takes a sip of her iced tea. “I went to a party last Friday.”

“Did that Josh kid throw it?” Aasim asks. He sounds bitter.

“Yeah,” Clem confirms.

“Mad you weren't invited, Aasim?” Omar teases.

“No, I couldn't care _less,_ ” Aasim says with a scowl. “Besides, you don't even need an invitation. Literally _anyone_ can just walk in.”

“Not much happened, if I'm being honest,” Clem says. “A band called Troubled Youth played and then everyone got drunk.”

“Hey! That's Louis’ band!” Ruby excitedly says, covering her mouth with her hand as she munches on her pasta. Once she swallows, she adds, “They're really good, ain't they?”

The mention of Louis makes Clem sit up straighter. Of course Ruby knows him, _she's_ the one he impersonated! She wants to facepalm for not figuring that out sooner. “Yeah, they are,” Clem agrees but then quickly comments, “You know Louis, right?”

Ruby chuckles. “Who _doesn’t_ know Louis?”

“He's Aasim’s best friend,” Omar mentions.

“No he's not!” Aasim is exasperated. “He's the most annoying person I've ever met!”

Omar and Ruby dissolve into laughter. Clementine smiles.

“Why'd ya ask, Clem?” Ruby is still laughing.

“It's nothing. I just have something of his from the party and I wanna give it back.” She glances around the lunchroom. “I was hoping I'd run into him today but I don't think that's gonna happen.”

“At least not here. He's not in this lunch period, he's in the next,” Omar tells her.

“That sucks,” Clem says.

“I'm sure you'll spot him soon,” Ruby says. “He's kinda hard to miss.”

“And he's everywhere.”

“Yeah, like a plague,” Aasim utters.

Omar snorts.

“What do ya have of his?” Ruby asks.

“His jacket.” Clem twirls her pasta around her fork.

The confused stares are back.

“We were outside and he gave it to me because I was cold,” she explains, debunking any other weird ideas they had.

“Aw! Louis is such a sweetheart!” Ruby gushes. “You know, he was the first person I met when I got to Ericson. We had homeroom together freshman year. He'd always ask me questions ‘bout my old town. He'd act really interested, but I think he could tell I really missed Georgia an’ that talkin’ ‘bout it made me feel better.” She smiles, nostalgic. “Sometimes he'd try to mimic my accent—gosh, he was terrible, but it made me laugh.”

 _He still does_ , Clem says in her head.

“I'll never forget that one time he snuck into our lunch period when the cooking club was serving food so he could have two servings of our mac and cheese.” Omar chuckles. “He wore sunglasses and had his hood up as a disguise.”

“How did no one catch him?” Aasim asks.

“Oh, he got caught. But by then he already paid for it so they just let him go with a warning,” Omar says.

“Louis is quite the jokester,” Ruby speaks to Clementine. “He's a good guy, though.”

Clem chews thoughtfully. They all seem fond of Louis, well, all except Aasim, but who knows what lies underneath that irritable exterior.

“ _Ugh_ , these noodles are terrible. Way too soggy,” Omar complains as he stirs his bowl.

“Think ya can do better?” Ruby challenges him.

Omar confidently says, “I know I can.”

“When’s the cooking club having another lunch event?” Aasim questions.

“Probably one more time before graduation.”

“You're a part of the cooking club, Omar?” Clem asks.

“Yes, I am.” Omar puffs out his chest. “I'm the head chef.”

“Omar is really good! When the cooking club has a lunch event, they cook lunch for the whole school,” Ruby says, licking her lips. “It's delicious.”

“We usually have taste testings to decide the menu beforehand but they're more exclusive.” Omar opens his milk carton. “Invitation only.”

“You always invite us,” Aasim says, a hint of expectation lining his voice.

“I know I do!” Omar says. “You guys are coming, don't worry.”

A foreboding feeling starts to spread in Clem’s chest. This is usually where she starts to get left out of the discussion. The longtime friends will fall into their established camaraderie and completely forget Clem exists. She'll be left sitting there feeling like an intruder.

She shifts in her seat and makes herself small, assuming Omar isn't including her in this part of the conversation.

She's proven wrong when Omar looks across the table and says, “I'll make sure to bring three invitations next time.”

“Yay!” Ruby beams. “You're gonna love it, Clem!”

“I can't wait.” Clementine smiles and the petals of a rapport between the four of them begin to bud.

 

\---

 

“I want everyone to find a partner for this in-class assignment.”

Ms. Kim is a beautiful woman with a sleek black hair—chopped into a pixie cut—and ivory skin. Her bold red lip compliments her dark, almond shaped eyes behind her round, wire-framed glasses. She looks young but speaks like a scholar beyond her years.

The biology students start to murmur at the word “partner”, already picking who they want to work with.

“We're nearing the end of the chapter so I expect you all to have a solid grasp on genetic abnormalities, _especially_ chromosomal aberrations. You should know which abnormality is most common and what are the effects of…”

Clementine is already flipping through her biology textbook as Ms. Kim hands each student a worksheet. Biology is by no means her favorite subject, but she has to admit, it's pretty interesting.

“Okay,” Ms. Kim says once she's handed the last student his worksheet. “If you need to move seats to work with your partner, please do so now.”

Clem rolls her eyes heavenward. Partner work or group work, she hates them both. Nine times out of ten she knows no one in her class and is forced to work with the one _other_ social outcast. It's never fun.

Chairs scrape against the floor as people start to relocate next to their partners. Instead of the traditional school desk, the biology room is lined with long black tables. Clem taps her fingers on the hard surface. She figures she'll wait for the majority to find their friends and then see who's left.

All of a sudden, a textbook identical to her own drops next to her with a _thud_. She looks to her right and Sophie obscures her view with a gentle smile.

“Wanna work together?” Sophie offers, already sitting down next to her.

Right. This is 7th period. Sophie is in her 7th period. How could she forget? “Yeah, sure,” Clem consents, relief flooding her body. Finally, a partner assignment that works out in her favor!

As Sophie turns the pages of her textbook, she asks, “Why didn't you text me Friday night?”

Clem’s brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

“When you said you were leaving the party. I told you to text me when you got home but you never did.” Sophie’s attention is glued to her textbook as she speaks, “I was worried about you.”

Clem presses her lips together, unsure why a cold air has settled on her skin. Sophie _did_ tell her to text her when she got home and Clem never did. It slipped from her mind the second she stepped through her door and A.J barreled into her.

“My brother needed me and I completely forgot. Sorry about that,” Clem apologies.

“No worries. I'm glad you're okay!” And just like that, the cold air dissipates and Sophie is cheery again.

“Thanks,” Clem says, not sure what to make of that whiplash of emotions.

“I hear a lot of conversation but I don't see worksheets being filled out. Please start on them. They _will_ serve as your study guides for your upcoming test on Friday.” Ms. Kim establishes herself behind her desk. “Consider that your only reminder. Come up and ask me if you have any questions.”

Sophie plays with her pen while resting her chin on her palm. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “ _Sooo,_ ” she drawls. “How'd you like the party?”

Clem crosses her ankles under her chair. “It was fun,” she says for the umpteenth time today.

“Yeah? Did you like Troubled Youth?”

Once again, she says, “Yeah, they're really good.”

Sophie nudges her with an elbow. “You and Louis got pretty cozy, huh?”

Good thing Clem is not drinking water right now, because she would've spit it out at that exact moment. Cozy? What does that even _mean_? She exhales a laugh. “We were just talking.”

“I saw you with his jacket!” Sophie smirks slyly and inches closer. “C’mon, you can tell me,” she lowers her voice. “Did you kiss him?”

Clem reddens considerably. “ _What?_   No!” she sputters. “Sophie—why would we kiss? We met, like, ten minutes before you found us!”

Sophie directs a ‘ _don't be dense_ ’ look at her. “You really think that matters, Clem?”

She purses her lips. “It matters to me.”

“It was a _party_.” Sophie’s tone is patronizing and it rubs Clem the wrong way. “Everyone was drinking and having a good time, it's only normal for people to hook up.”

“Well, we didn't hook up.”

“Interesting,” Sophie speaks in an undertone.

Clementine’s ears perk at the word. _What does she mean by that?_ Her mind pushes her to press Sophie on the matter, but she doesn't want to come off as aggressive, like she's provoking an argument.

But it turns out Clem doesn't have to say a word—Sophie senses her curious spirit. “I'm telling you this because I really like you, Clementine,” Sophie begins to elaborate. “I think you're a super sweet girl and I don't want you to get hurt.”

Clem wishes she’d spit it out already. “What are you trying to say?” she urges.

“Louis… He's…”

Clem can feel her pulse fluttering as her fingers play with the trim of her sweatshirt sleeves.

“Let's just say you're not the only girl he's ‘ _taken to the balcony,_ ’ so to speak.” Sophie studies the clock above the door. “He'll make you feel special for a night, but after that…” she trails off with a rueful smile. Her eyes land on Clem when she says, “I guess you're his latest endeavor.”

Clem blinks once, then twice. She’s at a loss for words. Of all the things Sophie could have said, she was not expecting _this_ to come out of her mouth. “Isn't he your  _friend?_ ”

“He is. We've known each other for years,” Sophie says. “But that doesn't mean I support everything he does.”

Clementine doesn't believe her. She's met her fair share of people, insincere ones included, and while they're all different in their own right, there's always an underlying deceptive essence about them that can't be concealed. Louis didn't make her feel like he had ulterior motives. In fact, she could tell he was nervous when speaking with her! Sophie’s disapproving judgement doesn't line up with Omar’s funny remembrances and Ruby’s glowing compliments.

It's possible she's being foolish for not taking the word of someone who's known Louis for years, but there's something that's bothering her about this chat. Suspicion niggles at the back of her skull, her intuition warning her that perhaps Louis isn't the person she should be worried about.

“You don't believe me.” It's not a question. Sophie nods, understanding. “I get it—it's hard to imagine _Louis_ being someone like that.” Her eyelids droop and her cheeks blush. She's quiet when she says, “I just thought I'd let you know—one girl to another.”

“Okay.” Clem doesn't want to talk about this topic anymore. “We should probably do this worksheet.” She pushes a stray curl behind her ear.

“Yeah, we should,” Sophie says, sullen.

They sit there and work on the assignment together, postures stiff, while a tense aura simmers in the space between them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick little thing i wanna touch on: lee adopted clem when she was 7, and A.J when he was an infant. rebecca passed a few days after delivering him (therefore she still named him alvin junior). 
> 
> yay for more ericson kids being introduced! i love omar and ruby and aasim and i can't wait for them to form the lunchroom version of the clem protection squad™ LOL also, i wonder when our two main characters will run into each other again? >:) thank you for reading and see you next chapter!
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come ask me for some headcanons](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) i have for our lovely teens here. (or questions!)
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	4. right here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your continued support! it really means SO much to me. the comments and messages fuel me!!!! i hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it! ♡ 
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

_It's easier to pretend_  
_I'm stronger than all my friends_  
_Than tell them I've never been less sure_

_"Right Here" - R.LUM.R_

 

 

A tall oak desk separates Louis from Mrs. Bailey—she's sitting behind it with her hands folded in her lap while Louis relaxes in his own chair.

Mrs. Bailey's office is cozy, bookshelves line the walls and pictures of her smiling children decorate her desk. There's a bulletin board to the left of Louis. It's pinned with numerous “helpful” counseling brochures and encouraging posters with inspirational quotes underneath pictures of cute animals.

There's a bowl of M&M’s in front of him. They're colorful and inviting and he really wants to eat a few.

“Take some M&M’s, Louis,” Mrs. Bailey says, edging the bowl closer to him. “That's what they're here for.”

It's like she read his mind. Or, his stare.

Without hesitation, he reaches for the bowl of candy and scoops up a handful.

“Last time we met, you agreed to do the Common App. Did you?” Mrs. Bailey asks.

“Yup,” Louis confirms as he pours a couple of M&M’s in his mouth.

“Good!” She smiles and dimples indent her cheeks. She clasps her hands together, her pale pink nails contrast prettily against her mahogany skin. “What colleges did you apply for?”

“Central,” Louis says behind a mouth full of candy.

Mrs. Bailey nods. “Central is always a good choice. It's local, there’s a wide range of academics, the credits are transferable,” she lists each attribute by lifting a finger. Her hazel eyes search Louis, expectation hangs in the air between them. “What are the other ones?”

Louis takes another handful of M&M’s. “That's it,” he says.

Her lips part, ever so slightly. “You used the Common App to apply for _one_ college?”

He shifts in his seat and chews on his colorful chocolate candies. “...Yeah.”

“The average student applies to ten schools,” Mrs. Bailey says. “The Common App allows you to apply to _twenty_. Why would you only apply to one?”

Louis buries the hand that's not holding his candy in the front pocket of his hoodie. “I can't name ten colleges I wanna go to.” He slouches in his chair.  “Honestly, I can't even name five. I applied to Central because _everyone_ applies to Central. It's a guaranteed backup plan.”

“You shouldn't settle, Louis.”

“I'm not really settling.” He tosses a red M&M in the air and tilts his head back to catch it in his mouth. It lands perfectly on his tongue. “I'm just packing an extra parachute in case the first one fails.” He chews.

“There’s a high chance you're going to use that second parachute.” She scoots forward, resting her elbows on top of the desk. “Especially when the first one has an _eight percent_ chance of working.”

Louis is in the middle of throwing another candy into his mouth when he halts mid-action.

“I understand how much you want to get into Juilliard, Louis, but you need to be realistic,” Mrs. Bailey has the kindest inflection in her tone when she says this. Louis hates it. He can't get mad at her for telling him to _be realistic_ about applying to his dream school when she sounds so sickeningly sweet.

“Why didn’t you apply to other music schools in addition to Juilliard?” she questions. “There are plenty of colleges with highly-ranked music programs around the country—”

“My dad won't care.” The words are bitter on his tongue. He wishes he had swallowed them instead of blurting it out like that. He averts his eyes at Mrs. Bailey’s soft gaze. The carpet suddenly looks interesting. “I’ve dreamt of going to Juilliard since I was _seven_.” Louis observes the repetitive pattern printed on the rug under his feet. He doesn't want to talk about his dad or his future, but once he starts he can't stop. “If the world’s most prestigious music program accepts me, then maybe my dad will too. Maybe he'll see that music isn't some pipe dream for me.” He laughs, but it's short and humorless. “I'm actually good at it, y’know?” He scratches his nose. “Sometimes.”

It's funny to think about how music came into Louis’ life.

It was accidental. He was a rambunctious toddler, rowdy and unruly, always forcing his parents to chase after him in the street or to calm him down when guests were over. They tried enrolling him in a private preschool—thinking maybe their spoiled three-year-old would listen to someone else—and he didn't last a month.

At their wit’s end, they did research and learned that some experts believe that listening to classical music can help make a baby smarter, happier, and most importantly, calmer. In a last-ditch effort, Louis’ parents sat him down at a piano and hired the best teacher they could find in the area.

They didn't expect much from the lessons. If Louis sat through five minutes without giving the teacher a hard time, it would be considered a success. They had no idea he would fall in love with it.

Louis’ young mind was _fascinated_ by the piano—by the mechanisms, the beautiful sounds, and the technique. His teacher’s fingers would effortlessly glide over the keys, swift and precise, and a story would be told. Different emotions accompanied every note that flowed from the piano—Louis didn't understand how he felt joyful listening to one song but then felt pain and sorrow hearing another. It inspired him.

Playing came natural to him. Like a sponge, he soaked up everything his teacher showed him. When the lessons ended faster than he wanted, he'd whine for his teacher to stay longer. He went from playing simple notes and scales to full songs in a few weeks.

By the time Kindergarten rolled around, he was playing Mozart.

His parents never intended for the lessons to last more than a year. It was only meant as a pastime—a task to keep Louis busy so he wouldn't climb the stair banisters or break another expensive vase. When he was six, they told him he's free to stop the lessons at any time. He shook his head and told them he wanted to keep learning piano.

At seven, he confided his dream to be a musician to his parents.

The next week his piano teacher told him they’d have to discontinue the lessons.

One night, his father tried to comfort a distraught Louis by putting a hand on his head and telling him: “Music is a _hobby,_ son, not a career.”

Those words only fueled Louis’ love for music.

Over the years he became proficient at the piano, immersing himself in pieces by Chopin, Bach, Liszt—any and every esteemed piano composer.

He moved his mother to tears when he first played _Clair de Lune_ for her—one of her favorite songs.

He didn't stop at the piano. He bought and taught himself how to play other instruments—namely the electric guitar, the acoustic guitar, and bass. He dabbled in any instrument he could get his hands on, including harmonicas and ukuleles and the like.

When he started composing and writing his own music, he experimented with synths and keyboards, branching out from his classical background and creating more modern sounds. It got to the point where his bedroom looked like a recording studio.

His father couldn't stop Louis’ passion for music. He couldn't convince his son to give up the dream of becoming a professional musician. No amount of discouragement (statements like: “It's not a real job!” or “There’s no steady work in the music business” or even “I won't let you become a starving artist”) could change Louis’ mind. Music was his life and he'd dedicate himself to it.

Starting Troubled Youth with his friends was the last straw for his father. He stopped giving Louis his regular allowance in an attempt to stop him from buying instruments. Louis just sold his old possessions—gadgets, shoes, clothes—to make a quick buck and buy everyone in Troubled Youth equipment.

The benefits of growing up as a pampered rich kid.

His father said he wouldn't support Louis going to an art school. He wouldn't pay any application fees or travel costs unless he changed his mind and studied a practical major in a university.  Louis asked him what if he got into Juilliard.

His father chuckled.

“You're a remarkable musician, Louis,” Mrs. Bailey’s voice pulls him back to the present. His eyes snap to her face. “Mrs. Kelly would sing your praises all day if she could.”

He smiles at the mention of his old music teacher. She's so great.

“But you need to understand, it's _extremely_ difficult to get into Juilliard. They're highly selective. They get _thousands_ of applications from all over the world and only pick eight percent of them.” She extends a hand forward on the desk, like she's trying to reach for him to conciliate him. “I'm not trying to dishearten you. Not at all. I believe you can get in, Louis. I'm only trying to say that Juilliard shouldn't be your be-all end-all. Don't settle for an everyday community college if you _know_ you want to pursue music. By only applying to Juilliard, you've put all your eggs in one basket.”

“Well, good thing my basket is really small and I only have one egg.” Louis smirks.

Mrs. Bailey doesn't laugh at his joke like she usually does. Her expression stays neutral when she goes, “This isn't a time for joking. This is your future.”

His smile slips. He nods and squares his jaw.

“You're extremely talented, Louis,” Mrs. Bailey says. “I want to see you succeed, but you _have_ to stop selling yourself short. You have so much to offer. You just need to believe in yourself.”

 

\---

 

Mrs. Bailey’s words bounce around in the cage of his mind as he heads to lunch. He's late because of their meeting.

Marlon, Minnie, and Violet ask him where he was when he sits down at their usual table.

Louis doesn't know why he lies; perhaps he's tired of talking about college and his father's disappointment and his future in _general_ , but he says he stayed late in his history class to talk with his teacher about his grades.

They buy the fib and drop the topic, resuming conversation like normal.

“Hey, you guys remember that gig we did at Main Event?” Louis asks after finishing off his canned ice tea.

“Yeah,” Minnie says, putting the plastic lid back on her pasta bowl.

They performed at Main Event a month ago. It's a small music venue slash bar, but it's patrons mainly use it as a place to get drinks and catch up with friends. Due to the fact that Main Event sells alcohol, everyone in Troubled Youth had to wear orange wristbands to alert the bartenders of their underage status.

Everyone except Marlon—thanks to his fake ID.

Mitch had one too but he got busted two months prior.

Besides, they still took celebratory shots beforehand.

“I was doing my homework and looking something up, but then I got distracted and started searching us—or, Troubled Youth, really—but yeah, I got so deep into the Internet that I found this random blog.” Louis pulls out his phone and starts tapping on the screen. “Guess what was on it?”

“Po—” Marlon starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“Everyone but Marlon can guess.”

“I don't know, but I hope something good if it was related to us,” Minnie says.

“Just tell us, Louis,” Violet urges.

“Okay, so, apparently this wannabe music-critic-blogger-man was at our gig and he wrote a review about us!” Louis scrolls for a few seconds before turning his phone around and showing the table.

“Whoa, really?” Marlon gapes. “What’d he say?”

Minnie, Violet, and Marlon huddle around the tiny phone screen.

“It's super long and he kinda talks in circles, but the gist of it is: he said we have great musicality and a tremendous amount of potential,” Louis says proudly.

Minnie gasps. “That's amazing!” She beams. “Our first review is positive!”

“There’s nothing about me in here,” Marlon sulks as he scrolls up and down the long wall of black and white text.

“He doesn't really point any of us out.” Louis shrugs. “Which can be a good thing. It means we work well together. We're a cohesive unit—no one outshines the other.”

“Eh, I don't know about that,” Marlon mutters.

“The best part of this review is when he tries to name the genre we play.” The group sits back when Louis turns the screen towards himself to read from it. “The guy goes, ‘ _Perhaps the most interesting thing about Troubled Youth is their sound._ ’”

“Why are you speaking in a British accent?” Violet asks with a raised brow.

“I feel like this guy is British,” Louis comments in a matter-of-fact manner. “Anyway, that's not important, listen—‘ _As they performed, I noticed how different each song was from each other._ ’ Uh, blah, blah, he talks about our songs, oh, here! ‘ _I'd have to say Troubled Youth are a mix of modern alternative pop rock with hints of pop punk and indie teen garage rock influenced by the unique sounds of ska and permanent wave_ —’”

“He's literally just naming random shit,” Marlon says, resting an elbow on the table.

“I _lost_ it when I read this.” Louis puts his phone away. “Can you imagine us in interviews?” He straightens and holds up an imaginary microphone in front of Marlon’s face. He speaks in a professional voice, “How would you describe Troubled Youth’s sound?”

Marlon plays along. He talks near Louis’ empty fist, “That's a great question. How much time do we have?”

“About an hour.”

“Perfect. That's the time we'll need for the answer.”

The table bursts out in shared laughter—even Violet is smiling at Louis and Marlon’s antics.

A comfortable lull replaces the subsiding laughter. The four friends relax in the break of chatter, getting their final chuckles out from the joke.

“I'm gonna miss this,” Minnie utters.

Louis raises his brows. “Shitty cafeteria food?”

“No. _This._ ” Minnie swoops an arm around the table. “Sitting at lunch, laughing with you guys, seeing you everyday… College is gonna pull us in all different directions.”

Marlon wears a half-smile, already feeling nostalgic. “We'll never be too far from each other.”

“You can say that because you and Lou are going to the same college,” Violet says.

A rock forms in Louis’ stomach, rooting him to the spot. He agreed to go to Central with Marlon _years_ ago. It was one of those “best friend pacts” they made when they were fourteen. He didn't think much of it—it was only an idea. He knew he wanted to go to Juilliard, first and foremost.

He just didn't have the guts to tell Marlon that. Or anyone, for that matter.

“You're free to join us, Vi,” Marlon offers.

“Nope. I've had enough of you two.”

“I know I want to stay local,” says Minnie. “I don't wanna be far from Soph and Tenn. Or you guys.”

Louis doesn't say a word. He's frozen, his mouth set in a hard line and his fingers are clutching the fabric of his jeans.

 _Tell them you applied to Juilliard. They’re your best friends, they deserve to know_ , his mind prods him.

 _No, there's no point. There's only an eight percent chance of getting in. They won't pick me_ , a darker part of his mind deters him.

If Juilliard—somehow—accepts him, he'll have to go to New York. Five hundred-something miles from his friends. The friends he grew up with, the friends who have been there for each other through thick and thin. He’s always been _here_ , and now he might only have a few months left. He can already imagine the looks on their faces.

A random pat on his shoulder jolts Louis out of his inner conflict.

“Yo, Louis, you were awesome at Josh’s!” Zane—a fellow senior—exclaims as he walks past their table. He slaps hands with Louis. “You all were!” He points at the remaining band members.

Everyone responds with varied thanks.

“Tell Mitch I said so!” Zane says.

“We will!” Minnie replies.

“ _Woo_! Troubled Youth!” Zane sticks out his tongue and does the rock and roll fingers—sticking up his index and pinky fingers—before walking away.

They all start laughing—them, plus a few students who had nothing to do with the conversation but saw Zane’s silly gesture.

Louis smiles and pushes away the confusing thoughts that swarm his head.

The future will come when it does. For now, he's going to enjoy the moment.

 

\---

 

The bell screeches throughout the hallway, signaling the five minute period where students are allotted time to stop by their lockers and get their books.

Louis is strolling out of the cafeteria and saying goodbye to Violet when he sees her.

There’s a row of people in front of him but he still spots Clementine walking a few paces past him. One minute she's upright, holding her books in one arm, the next her books are on the ground and she's bending down to pick them up.

Louis rushes over to help her. He’s at her side in a second, picking up her last book and handing it to her.

“Thanks,” she says, her head low as she stuffs some papers back into a folder.

She doesn't see him.

“Welcome,” is all Louis replies with.

When she picks up her head to accept the book from his hand, her eyes find his and recognition dawns on her face. “Oh… Hi,” she breathes.

“Hi.” Louis grins.

She's not wearing her hat today and he can see so much more of her face compared to that night on the balcony. His heart quivers. She's even prettier without it.

Clementine stands up straight, dusting the dirt from her knees.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, making sure she didn't forget anything on the floor. Students travel past them, no one stopping to help or make sure she's okay. How rude!

“I'm fine. Some asshole just bumped into my shoulder and knocked my books loose.” Clem glances over her shoulder, sending an angry glare towards the culprit.

“Yep, that's Ericson.” Louis nods. “Still think the people here are nicer than your old school?”

“My opinion is wavering.” She squeezes her books tighter. “But my answer is still yes.”

She's looking at him and he feels the butterflies making a reappearance. He doesn't know what to do with his arms all of a sudden so he crosses them. “Where are you headed?” he questions, prompting conversation.

“Spanish class,” Clem responds.

“Nice! Sounds very…” Louis pauses, thinking. “...I don't know how to say fun in Spanish.”

“I don't either.”

Louis can feel the exchange dwindling like a candle losing its flame. He can talk about _anything_ , but why does he lose his voice when he speaks to her?

_Fill the silence! C'mon, man!_

He opens his mouth. “I—”

“I have your jacket,” Clem interjects.

A metaphorical light bulb glows over his head. He completely forgot about his jacket! He purposely didn't ask for it back that night at Josh’s, preferring Clem use it to keep warm, but after that it escaped his mind as he failed miserably at beer pong.

“You have it with you right now?” Louis asks.

“Well, it's in my locker.”

“Where's your locker?”

“Hallway J.”

Louis takes a quick look at the clock mounted high on the wall. There’s not much time before the final bell rings. “Wanna go get it?”

A doubtful appearance has her knitting her brows. “It’s on the third floor and the five minute bell _just_ rang.”

“We can make it,” Louis reassures her.

“Are you sure? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but my legs are, uh, shorter than yours.”

“Don’t worry!” Louis starts to step backwards. “I know a shortcut.” He smirks and turns on his heel. Clementine follows after him.

Instead of heading towards the stairs in the main hallway, they head in a different direction. They end up in a secluded hallway lined with industrial doors and a steel elevator at the end. A large sign with letters in a bold, black font reading: _“Maintenance Personnel Only”_ warns them as they stop in front of the elevator.

Clementine is hesitant. “Uh… What is this?”

Louis points. “This is an elevator.”

She wears a dull expression. “I know that.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “Janitors and other maintenance workers use this elevator.”

“Are we allowed to use it?”

“Nope. It’s locked by a code.”

Clementine gawks at him, incredulous. “Then why are we—” She halts when Louis strides forward and presses four buttons on a keypad next to the elevator doors. Her eyes widen. “You know it?”

“I was buddies with an old janitor.” He lifts his shoulders. “Sometimes we’d walk around the hallways together. He told me the code the day before he retired. The school never changed it.” He hopes Joe is enjoying his retirement wherever he is.  

A high-pitched _ding_ sounds and the elevator doors peel apart. Louis extends his arm out dramatically. “After you.” He bows for added effect.

Clem snorts and walks in. Louis does the same.

He pushes the button with the combination “3F” etched on it and says, “This’ll put us right in front of hallway J.” The doors close when the button lights up.

“You sure we won’t get into trouble?” Clem studies the old walls of the elevator.

“We’ll be fine. No one’ll see us.”

 _I hope_ , he thinks.

Thankfully, no one is waiting to take them to detention when the doors open. They wander out of the elevator together and, lo and behold, they’re in front of hallway J.

Clementine leads the way to her locker and Louis trails behind her. The halls are becoming emptier as students vanish into their 8th period classes. Because of that, they reach Clem’s locker in no time at all.

“Look at that,” Louis says as Clem puts in her combination. He leans against the locker next to hers. “We’re here _and_ we still have two minutes to spare.”

Her mouth curves into a small smile. “Sorry for doubting you.”

He gives her a lopsided grin. “Now you know I’m a man of my word.”

She opens her locker and grabs the jean jacket. “Here you go.” She holds it out for him to take. “I… I didn’t steal it,” she stammers.

Louis tilts his head in confusion. “Yeah, I know. I _gave_ the jacket to you.” He narrows his eyes. “Does that count as stealing now? If so—I’ve gotten _a lot_ of things stolen from me.”

“No, but I should’ve given it back to you before I left.”

“Don’t worry about it, Clem.” Louis takes the jacket from her hold. “You could’ve kept it, really.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “It’s nice, but it’s your jacket.”

“You sure?” He lifts the jacket, bunched in his grip. “It looked nice on you.” The words escape his mouth before he has time to understand what he’s saying. He bites the inside of his cheek and wills his face to stay indifferent.

 _What are you doing?!_ he yells in his mind. _Shut up for once!_

Her eyes are downcast but the corner of her mouth hitches up. “It looks better on you,” she says.

Louis’ brain malfunctions. He stands there like a statue, unsure what to feel.

 _What? Is she_ — _? No, she’s just being friendly. Calm down. You’re freaking out over nothing._

When he’s flustered, words start spilling from his mouth. “I got the jacket from this shop called Smithstone. It’s real vintage. Like, your grandpa probably wore something from this store. It’s not totally my style, but they have cool stuff. Vi shops there a lot. That’s how I found out about it,” he rambles.

“That sounds cool,” Clementine remarks.

“Do…” Louis holds his breath and lets it out in one long-winded sentence. “Do you wanna go? I—I know it must be hard finding your way around the city when you’re new and all, so… I could show you… if you want.” His palms are clammy. “Or, I could just give you the address and you can check it out when you have time! It’s not _that_ hard to find…”

Clem shuts her locker. Louis flinches. _She’s gonna walk away!_

To his surprise, she asks, “Are you free this Saturday?”

“Yes!” he says immediately. He doesn’t actually remember if he’s free this weekend, but he’ll make it work for her.

“We can go then.”

“We can?” he repeats her in disbelief, like he’s not the one who originally suggested it.

She inclines her head. “Yeah.”

The final bell startles Louis when it rings. Right. They have to go to class. His tunnel vision breaks and the vacant hallway greets him. Clem and him are the only two students left—save for one or two stragglers.

“What time—” Louis blinks. His brain is full of white noise. “What time is best for you?”

“Any time around one works.” Clementine begins to walk off. Louis accompanies her.

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll pick you up?” he suggests.

She glances at him. “You don’t have to. I can take the bus.”

He frowns. “The buses suck. Don’t torture yourself. I’ll drive.”

“If you insist…” They enter the stairwell. It echoes with the tapping of their feet.

“I insist,” Louis says. “Where do you live?”

Clem stops. “Give me your phone.” Her hand is out, palm up. “I’ll text you my address.”

Louis grabs his cell phone from his pocket and places it in Clem’s hand.

She types on it for what feels like two seconds (but was probably a little longer) and gives it back. Everything is happening so fast. Louis’ heart is pounding against his ribs.

Clementine descends down the stairs with Louis on her heels. “I’m so late,” she speaks in an undertone.

“That’s my fault,” Louis says. “Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not harsh. “It’s not your fault, Louis. We both got distracted.” She shifts her book to her other arm. “Is your class this way too?”

Louis looks away. “Yeah,” he lies.

His class is on the first floor. He hasn’t even stopped by his locker yet.

Once they exit the stairwell, Clem’s Spanish class is on the left. The door is still open, the stopper on the bottom keeping it from closing.

Before she heads in, she gives him a once-over and waves. “I’ll see you later.”

Louis stands a few steps from the threshold. “Yeah.” He smiles at her. “See you.”

“Clementine!” Mr. Pérez calls out when she steps in the classroom. “How nice of you to join us!” His funny, sarcastic nature is one of his shining features—aside from the fact that he’s also a great teacher.

“Sorry,” Clem apologizes as she hurries to her seat.

Louis didn’t mean for her to be singled out in front of her class. He feels bad. “It’s my fault!” he declares from the doorway. “I held her up!”

Mr. Pérez’s head snaps to where Louis is standing. His eyes light up. “Louis! Why am I not surprised?” He saunters towards the door and kicks out the stopper, holding it open with his body.

“ _Lo siento?”_ Louis tries.

Mr. Pérez chuckles. “Funny.” He points down the hallway. “Go to class before you get in trouble.”

“Will do, sir.” He mock salutes the man and pretends to walk down the hallway. As soon as the door shuts, Louis collapses against a locker with a hand over his heart.

He’s going out with Clementine on Saturday. _Holy shit!_

He pumps his fist a couple of times and smiles wide, running a hand over his dreads and blowing out his cheeks.

A record scratch shrieks in his head. He needs to go to class _now_ if he wants to avoid being marked absent.

In a clumsy fashion, he scurries in the opposite direction—ducking low so Mr. Pérez doesn’t notice him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! WE GOT SOME CLOUIS! next chapter is gonna be a fun one as we start chugging the clouis train along ^_~ 
> 
> also, quick note: i was trying for the longest to avoid giving this story a set location because i was still debating with myself where tf everyone is LOL but for anyone who's confused where ericson is in comparison to new york, i'm settling for a fictional town in ohio. somewhere near columbus. 
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come ask me for some headcanons](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) i have for our lovely teens here. (or questions about the story!)
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	5. me & you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me start this off by saying: i'm SO sorry for the wait. life kicked my ass these past weeks but i'm HERE and ready to give y'all a new chapter!! this is the longest chap to date and that's because it's the CLOUIS DATE ♡ enjoy my loves! 
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 _You came into my life with no warning_  
_Like a flash of light_  
_And I was doing fine but as you came in_  
_I watch my future rewrite_

_"Me & You" - HONNE_

  

 

Saturday crawls to the present—the other days of the week torturing him with their twenty-four hours.

Bands of sunlight stripe Louis’ face as he wearily blinks his eyes, adjusting his sight to his bright room. He sticks his arm out from under his covers and feels around for his phone on the nightstand beside his bed. He grabs it and brings it to his face, squinting at the screen to see if there are any important notifications.

Text from Marlon. New mention on Twitter. Tagged in an Instagram post. _Boring, boring..._

His heart leaps into his throat when he sees he has one new text from Clementine.

_[9:58am Clementine] Hey sorry this is last min but I have to watch my little bro today. Do you wanna reschedule?_

Louis reads the message, crestfallen. He waited forever for this! Well, actually, he only waited four days, but it _felt_ like forever.

Determined to salvage this outing, he texts back:

[11:02am] Bring him along

A minute later, three dots pop up under his message. Louis stares them down.

_[11:03am Clementine] R u sure?_

[11:03am] Yea it’ll be fun

He sends an emoji to sound more convincing.

[11:03am] :D

_[11:04am Clementine] Ok cool_

Louis locks his phone and sits up, throwing his covers off of him. He did not expect to wake up today and nearly have his date with Clementine (can he even call it that?) cancelled. What went from a shopping trip with only him and Clem turned into a shopping trip with him, Clem, _and_ her little brother.

 _Okay._ Louis nods. _This is fine,_ he motivates himself. He can work with this.

He jumps out of bed to get ready.

 

\---

 

 _“Cute”_ is the first thought that pops into Louis’ head when he drives up to Clementine’s house. The street is relatively quaint, lined with trees and the occasional bench for a bus stop. He pulls into the short driveway and cuts the engine off. He sits in the vehicle for a second, bracing himself, before opening the door and stepping out of his sleek truck.

The march up to her front door is taxing. Every step feels like he’s trudging through quicksand, his legs heavy and uncooperative. It’s a different story once he’s _at_ her door.

The closed white door towers before him, intimidating him to the point where he doesn’t knock on it or ring the doorbell, he just looks at it.

Clementine is behind this door.

“What do I say to her?” Louis talks under his breath. “Do I go ‘Hey, Clem!’ or ‘What’s up, Clem?’ or—no, I sound stupid.” He paces on her small porch. “‘Yo! Long time no see, Clem!’—okay, nope, that’s even worse.”

This goes on for ten minutes.

Eventually Louis chooses the right greeting and gathers up enough courage to knock on the door.

Turns out it’s all for naught when a little boy answers.

Nothing is said for a moment, a beat of silence passing between them as the little boy studies Louis.

 _This must be her little brother,_ he presumes in his head.

Louis gives the boy a kind smile and speaks in a soft voice, “Hey, little guy, is Clementine home?”

The boy’s eyebrows snap together. “Who are you?” he asks, defensive.

Louis is about to introduce himself when Clementine, from somewhere in the house, yells, “What did Dad tell you about answering the door by yourself, A.J!”

The boy—whose name must be A.J—pouts, and in a blink of an eye, forcibly shuts the door in Louis’ face.

Back at square one.

“Alright,” Louis says to no one.

This could be a good thing. It counts as a do-over. Every cloud has its silver lining, right?

He shakes his arms and rolls his neck, preparing himself for round two of “ _Try to greet Clementine and not make a fool out of yourself_.”

Mere moments later, there's muffled voices on the other side of the door. It starts off quiet but grows louder as it gets closer.

Louis holds his breath.

The door swings open.

Clementine stands on the other side, looking a little flurried. “Oh my gosh, Louis, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you.”

Louis holds his thumbs up. “It's cool!”

 _No, that's not what I wanted to say!_ He's completely thrown off his game. He spent _ten_ minutes practicing what he'd say to Clem and then forgot to say it. Who says “it's cool” to having a door slammed in their face?!

Clem steps to the left. “Come in.”

Louis crosses the threshold to stand in the entryway.

Clementine shuts the door behind him and says, “I just have to get my backpack, then we can go.”

“Sounds good.” When Clem escapes up the stairs, he calls after her, “Take your time!”

Left alone, Louis observes his surroundings. The walls are white and mostly bare—he can tell the house hasn’t been lived in for quite a while due to the faint smell of fresh paint. There’s a square mirror and a keyholder above the foyer table. Scattered mail decorates the table; all of it addressed to a Lee Everett.

Suddenly, a prickling sensation tickles his neck. Louis glances to his right and there’s A.J a short distance away, peering at him.

Louis smiles at the kid.

A.J glares back. “Is your name Louis?”

“Yup.”

“How do you know Clem?” A.J asks, crossing his little arms.

“We go to school together.”

“Are you friends?”

Louis did not expect to get a grilling from Clementine’s little brother. The kid looks like he means business too as he steps closer. “I’d like to think we are.”

He hasn’t known Clem for very long but they’re getting there. Baby steps.

“Clem said we’re going somewhere with you today. Where are we going?” A.J questions.

“We’re gonna go shopping.”

A.J frowns and his shoulders sag as he drops his arms. “Shopping is boring.”

The kid went from being a menacing interrogator to a frustrated child in less than a second. The abrupt switch is slightly disorientating, but the people-pleaser in Louis compels him to lift A.J’s spirits.

“You know why you think that?” Louis bends down to A.J’s height, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve never gone shopping with _me._ ” Louis jabs a thumb at his chest. “It’ll be fun.” He rests a hand on A.J shoulder. “I promise.”

A.J eyes Louis with an unconvinced expression. He juts out his bottom lip, staying mute.

That’s when Clementine reappears on the stairs. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”  

Louis stands to his full height. “Let’s go!”

Clem and A.J lace up their shoes, grab their jackets, and then everyone shuffles out of the house. Clem locks the door, the keys jingling against each other, and they make their way to Louis’ truck. Clementine opens the door for A.J and helps him get situated in the backseat before situating herself in the passenger seat.

Louis starts the car as Clem twists in her seat and tells A.J to put on his seatbelt.

“Any music requests?” Louis asks. “Going once…”

A.J shouts, “Monster Alliance!”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that a video game?”

“No, we are not listening to that,” Clem says. “It’s the video game soundtrack,” she explains to Louis. “He plays it _all_ the time.”

“But Clem…” A.J starts.

“Aw. I’ll turn it on if he really wants,” Louis offers.

“No, my head will _explode_ if I have to listen to those songs _one_ more time.” Clem rubs her temples. “Just put on the radio.”

Louis looks at a disappointed A.J through the rearview mirror. “Sorry, little buddy, maybe on our way back.”

Clementine silently shakes her head at Louis, wordlessly saying: “No we’re not.”

 

\---

 

The town is always full of life on the weekend, and because of that, it makes parking a troublesome task. Everyone decides to drive into town instead of taking public transportation so parking spots become something like a rare delicacy. It takes time to find a spot—Louis drives around the same block a couple of times, hoping to catch someone leaving so he can take their spot, but not a single car moves. He gives up and drives farther up, having no choice but to park away from Smithstone.

Thankfully, they’re not too far from the shop, just a block and a crosswalk away.

“Here, hold my hand A.J,” Clementine says, holding out her hand for her little brother to take.

They’re standing at the crosswalk now, waiting for the light to change.

“You gotta hold Louis’ hand, too!” A.J states.

Louis is standing on Clementine’s left while A.J stands on her right—the siblings are too busy with each other to notice the way Louis’ eyes widen.

“I’ve crossed many streets, A.J,” Louis says, leaning forward so he can see the kid beside Clem. “I’ll be okay.”

A.J points out, “But what if this time you’re not?”

He got him there. This street _is_ pretty busy.

“Louis is big enough to cross the street by himself,” Clem mentions to A.J.

“Then I am too!” A.J argues, wrapping his arms around himself.

The light changes rather quickly. Cars are idle at the crosswalk as various pedestrians begin to cross the street.

Clem is frustrated. “Alvin Junior!”

A.J turns his head away, ignoring his big sister.

“Fine,” Clementine huffs. She directs her attention to a still Louis—he’s been quiet this entire time, reluctant to get between a sibling squabble. “Sorry,” Clem apologizes. “He’s really stubborn.”

“Kids, huh?” Louis lets out an unsteady laugh. “Always concerned with… pedestrian safety…”

“Can we just...?” Clem doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she grasps Louis’ hand with her own.

One second ago his hand was cold, now it’s warm against Clementine’s palm. She wraps her fingers around his hand and he does the same.

“Y-yeah, sure,” he manages to say, even though it doesn’t matter because they’re already holding hands and he’s trying not to have a stroke.

“See, A.J?” Clem lifts up their clasped hands. “Louis and I are holding hands. _Now_ will you hold mine?”

A.J takes note of their joined hands and acquiesces to the hand holding, grabbing Clem’s other hand with his own.

“Thank you,” she says gently.

Except now they have to wait for the light to change _again._

Cars zoom down the street and the wind picks up, but all Louis can concentrate on is his hand wrapped around Clem’s. He gazes at their hands, all sorts of different thoughts firing off in his brain. Like how small her hand is compared to his, or how natural this feels.

Bringing A.J was a _great_ idea.

Clementine catches his stare and they look at each other for an instant, her lips curve into a tiny smile before she looks elsewhere.

Like dropping from the highest point on a rollercoaster, a _swooping_ sensation seizes his gut.   

What a feeling.

The three of them cross the street when the light flashes green. To an outsider, they probably resemble a family taking their little boy out for a day on the town. When in reality it's just a big sister and her little sibling with a hand holding complex.

And Louis is there too.

A.J drops Clem's hand after they successfully cross the street. He skips ahead as Clem watches him carefully.

Louis, on the other hand, is playing it cool on the outside while simultaneously freaking out on the inside.

Clem is _still_ holding his hand.

They're almost at the shop. _What do I do?_ He's panicking. _Do I keep holding her hand or let it go? Is that rude? Or is she waiting for me to let go?_

His internal struggles are solved when Clementine releases his hand to the chilly air, their fingers brushing in the motion.

“Thanks for that,” she says to him.

“Anytime,” he replies and he means it.

 

\---

 

Smithstone is relatively empty when they walk in—save for the bored cashier on her phone and two young girls trying on fuzzy coats and snapping pictures.

The shop exudes retro nostalgia from the black and white photos on the wall to the geometric pattern on the carpet. The pale yellow wallpaper is peeling in certain spots and there's a light coat of dust on the shelves. A multitude of tightly packed clothing racks cram the floor, making the store seem cluttered and disorganized.

It's a beautiful mess to Clementine, though.

 _Where do I start?_ she thinks as they squeeze between the racks to end up in the middle of the store. She starts to causally browse through the clothing items, the hangers screeching against the metal as she pushes away the clothes she doesn't care for.

“I found my jean jacket… somewhere around here…” Louis is on the other side of the rack, his eyes searching around the store. “There's a lot of clothes in this store.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Clem says. A black sweater grabs her attention. She raises it so Louis can see. “This is nice, right?”

Louis picks up his head. “I thought you were here for a jacket.”

“I am,” she defends and holds the sweater under her chin. “But there's so much here, I'm bound to find other stuff I like too.”

“I didn't know you were into old people clothes.” He smirks.

She narrows her eyes. “I'm into being _comfortable_ ,” she corrects.

Louis hums. “That sweater is cool. It'd look even cooler on you.”

“You're just saying that.”

“I'm being honest!”

She puts it back. “I'll think about it.”

The next fifteen minutes are spent by Clementine asking Louis’ opinion on a handful of tops—ranging from normal turtlenecks to eccentric graphic tees. If she thought the earlier compliment was him merely humoring her, she now knows he truly _is_ being honest. He'll tell her when he thinks a particular shirt is “meh” or “nothing special”, but when he really likes a shirt he'll make sure she knows.

“This shirt is so awesome! You have to get it!” Louis is gushing over a neon tie-dye t-shirt with an airbrushed cat face on it.

“Are you crazy?” Clem tries not to laugh but the shirt is so colorful in the most unappealing way, it's hard to keep a straight face.

“This is the epitome of fashion, Clem,” he says bluntly. The t-shirt is suspended from a hanger as Louis holds it at an arm’s-length distance.

She wrinkles her nose. “I can't tell if you're being serious or messing with me.”

He looks her dead in her eyes. “I'm being serious.”

“Louis, I'm not buying this shirt.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's ugly!”

He gasps. “How could you say that?”

“Look, if you love it so much, how about _you_ buy it?”

Louis presses his lips together, contemplative. “I might.”

“Here.” Clementine removes a yellow bucket hat from a nearby shelf. “Try this. It’ll match the shirt.”

Louis bends down so Clem can neatly place the hat on top of his head.

“Oh, great pick.” He checks himself out in a nearby mirror, readjusting the hat and turning his head to and fro. “I’d try on the t-shirt too but I don’t think your eyes could handle all that beauty.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile. “I’m pretty sure those colors together would blind me.”

Louis chuckles. “Definitely couldn’t sneak out wearing this outfit.” He pulls the hat off his head. “You’d be able to spot me a mile away.”

Clem resumes perusing the clothes. “It’s not very discreet.”

“Not at all.” Louis returns the abomination of a shirt to its rightful rack.

 _This is nice,_ Clem muses, sneaking glimpses at Louis. Honestly, she didn’t know what to expect when she agreed to come shopping with him. It was an impulsive decision—a notion she didn’t grant time to form inside her head. She merely followed her whim and went along with him.

Coupled with the reeling emotions she felt after Sophie’s reveal on Louis, she wanted to go out with him in spite of Sophie’s attempt to discourage her.

 _I want to see for myself,_ she resolved in her head. _I want to come to my own conclusion._

Being here with him outside of school, free of any external influence, is improving her judge of character. They exchange views amicably, an ebb and flow. She doesn’t have to think of what to say next when she’s talking to him. There’s no hesitation or insecurity; the thoughts in her mind spill from her without abandon. It’s easy to be herself.

And that’s never been easy for her.

It takes another five minutes or so of searching, but their efforts come to fruition when Louis presents a maroon leather jacket.

“I love this.” Clem runs a hand down the lapels and traces the zippers with her fingers. “I wanna try it on.”

“Go ahead,” Louis coaxes. “I’ll hold your jacket.”

She hands her current coat to Louis—who has on his own brown jacket—and puts on the leather one. It’s not too big or too tight—it’s a slim fit that goes perfectly with the loose white shirt she’s wearing.

“Does it look okay?” she asks, tugging at the front.

“ _Very_ nice.” Louis nods, watching her. Clem ignores the way her skin prickles at his stare. “The color is great on you. Gives off a badass vibe.”

“That’s exactly what I was going for,” Clem jokes.

“You nailed it,” he says. “A-plus.”

“Looks like I found my jacket.” Clem takes off the red biker jacket and slings it over her arm. “I’m gonna go buy it.”

“You don’t wanna look around some more? See if you see anything else you like?”

“I would, but I don’t want to keep A.J waiting too long—” The air escapes her lungs. She whirls around in a frenzy. “Where the hell is A.J?”

See, the thing about bringing A.J anywhere, is that there will always be a risk of the boy walking off on his own. A.J is young, which means he’s naturally curious. His curiosity often times gets the better of him as he wanders off to explore his newly found interest. Lee has resorted to calling out A.J’s name every five minutes and expecting to hear an answer so he knows the kid is at least in close proximity.

Lee told her to do the same whenever she’s out with A.J by herself.

But she was a little distracted.

“Shit.” Louis’ eyes dart around. “I could've sworn he was right next to us when we walked in.”

“He does this all the time.” Clementine scans her surroundings. “He won't say a word, he'll just walk off.”

“We probably should've kept an eye on him.”

“It's okay. This store isn't big, he couldn't have gone too far.” Clem doesn’t know whether she’s trying to comfort Louis or herself.

The search for A.J starts in the middle of the shop with Louis and Clem peeking around clothing racks and checking behind shelves. When A.J is nowhere to be found, they move their search to the back of the store and look in the hallway lined with the doors to the men’s and women’s restrooms. He's not there. They try checking inside the respective bathrooms, but it's to no avail.

“He's not in the men's bathroom,” Louis says. “Not even in the toilets.”

“Why would he be _in_ the toilets?”

“You never know! He's small! He can fit almost anywhere!”

Before Clem can question Louis’ logic regarding A.J's hiding places, the bell above the front door rings, effectively stopping her heart. What if that was A.J? Did he just leave the store to go wander the streets? What is she going to tell Lee when she comes home without her six-year-old brother?

“Clem. I can tell you're freaking out right now.” Louis steps into her main line of sight. “It'll be okay. There were other people in here with us, remember? They probably left.” He speaks with a gentle inflection. It’s calming. “Let's go up front and ask the cashier if she's seen a little boy walking around.”

Clementine nods—albeit stiff from the worry coursing through her veins—and the two of them make their way up to the front of Smithstone. They near the front counter with the (still) bored employee leaning her hip against the register. She glances up from her phone when she sees them approaching.

“Ready to check out?” she asks, her voice monotone and unenthusiastic.

“Actually, no,” Louis says. “We, uh, we lost a kid in here and we can't seem to find him.”

The employee's mouth twitches, like she wants to smile but it physically pains her to do so. “You mean that kid?” She points to the counter adjacent from her.

Clem and Louis can't see from where they're standing, so they round the L-shaped counter and there he is. A.J's on his knees in front of a glass display, peering at the shiny trinkets glowing underneath the lights.

“A.J!” Clem breathes his name in a sigh of relief.

A.J's eyes snap to Clem when his name is called. He blinks at her, completely unaware of the search that just went down for him. “Are you done shopping?”

“He's been up here for like, thirty minutes, just staring at the jewelry,” the cashier explains.

“Oh,” utters Louis. “That makes sense.”

“Yes, I'm done shopping, A.J,” is Clementine's response to her little brother. “We're about to check out, okay?”

A.J pulls himself up to his feet. “Can I get something?”

Louis appears at Clem's side. “What d’you got your eye on, little guy?”

A.J taps on a specific area of the glass, causing them to move closer to the display to get a clearer view. “Those glasses,” A.J states, his nose close to the glass. “They’re the same ones Disco Broccoli wears! Well, they're not purple, but that's it.”

Clem and Louis share a fond glance.

“You know what? I think you’re right,” Louis says, putting his face close to the glass as well. “I want a pair too.”

A.J’s eyes go wide. “You like Disco Broccoli?”

“I love Disco Broccoli! It’s one of my favorite shows!”

 _A little kid and a big kid._ Clem watches them with a smile.

“Can we get the glasses together?” A.J asks, eager.

Louis lightly jostles the boy’s shoulder. “Of course!”

From there, everything happens in a sequence of events. Clementine purchases her jacket first, fetching her wallet from her backpack while the cashier scans the tag for the price.

“Thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents,” she recites.

Clementine hands over two twenty dollar bills.

The register _dings_ as the drawer opens and the cashier collects Clem’s change.

She accepts her change from the cashier, stuffing the bills in her wallet. She also accepts the large brown bag with her jacket when the cashier passes it over the counter.

Clem moves out of the way, assuming Louis and A.J will step forward to buy their sunglasses, but Louis isn’t paying attention. He’s focused on his phone, a small frown tugging the corners of his lips down.

A complete one-eighty from the cheerful disposition he normally sports.

“Louis.” A.J tugs on his sleeve. When Louis peels his eyes away from his phone, A.J points at the counter. “The glasses.”

“Right, right.” Louis locks his phone, pockets it, then pulls out his wallet. “How much for two pairs of the sunglasses we were just looking at?”

The cashier pops her gum loudly. “Twenty bucks.”

He slides over a crisp twenty dollar bill and she takes out a key to open the glass display.

Clem steps closer to him and quietly asks, “Is everything okay?” It was weird to see Louis so engaged in his phone when he hadn’t viewed it once while they were shopping.

The cashier delivers the glasses to Louis, who gives a pair to A.J. The kid lets out an excited shout as Louis replies, “ _Mhm_ , just a random text.”

Although he doesn’t sound awfully confident, Clementine leaves it at that. If it's serious he'll let her know.

Besides, their trip is over. They visited Smithstone and she got a new jacket. That was what they had discussed.

So why does disappointment paint her chest so vividly? It weighs her down as they finalize their purchases and exit the store.

They're standing outside the shop—Clem clutches the bag with her jacket in it while A.J positions the sunglasses on his face. Louis has his hanging from his shirt collar. People pass them on the sidewalk, unaffected by their state of inactivity.

It catches them both by surprise when A.J asks, “Where are we going next, Louis?”

Apparently A.J doesn't want to go home yet either.

“We were only going shopping, A.J,” Clem clears up. She swallows the protest bubbling up her throat and says, “It’s time to go home now.”

“But I don't wanna!” A.J fusses and casts a pleading glance towards Louis. “Can we hang out some more?”

Clem wears an apologetic expression as she looks at Louis, sorry that A.J put him on the spot.

In her heart of hearts, she'd like to spend more time with Louis. She just isn’t brave enough to speak up.

Louis scratches his chin. “I mean, we _could_ grab a bite to eat?”

A.J repeatedly pats Clementine's leg, excited at the prospect of hanging with Louis longer. “Can we, Clem? _Please?”_

She’s excited too. “Sure, goofball.” Clem rubs the boy’s back soothingly. “What do you wanna eat?”

“Pizza!” A.J exclaims.

 _Of course he wants pizza._ “Know any good pizza places?” Clem asks Louis.

His eyes gleam with an idea. “I know one A.J will _love._ ”

 

\---

 

“An arcade?” Clementine knits her eyebrows and directs a puzzled look towards Louis. “Really?”

“They have good pizza!” Louis says in an attempt to justify his decision.

A.J, however, is over the moon. He doesn’t know where to go first, colorful machines and merry sounds pulling his attention every which way. “Whoa! They have Blast Ball!” A.J shouts and makes a beeline for the arcade machine.

A hand pulls on his collar to stop him. “You have to eat first, A.J,” Clem instructs. “Then you can play.”  

A.J sulks but he obliges. He straightens up and Clem lets go of his collar.

Level Up Arcade is bathed in blue and purple lights as the three of them wait on line to order their food. The arcade is a cacophony of bells, whistles, children screaming, and repetitive character voices urging people to play their game. It’s a little grating against Louis’ ears, but he gets used to it quick, and it becomes background noise.

When they reach the front of the line, Louis orders and pays for three pizza slices and then he searches for an open table to sit at. They find a vacant booth and squeeze in—Clem and A.J on one side with Louis on the other.

Cheese drips from A.J’s mouth onto his chin as he munches on his pizza. He takes bite after bite, hastily chomping through his slice while Clem and Louis aren’t even halfway finished with theirs.

“Slow down, goofball, the games aren’t going anywhere,” Clem says, wiping a smudge of sauce off his cheek with a napkin.

Louis laughs at A.J all but inhaling his slice of pizza. The kid is literally bouncing in his seat.

A.J drops the pizza crust on his paper plate. “I’m done! Can I go play now?”

Clementine sighs, resigned. “Fine, go ahead.” She gives him a five dollar bill. “This is for tokens. Don’t go too far, okay?”

“I won’t!” A.J bounds off into the chaos of the arcade.

Louis and Clem both spare quick glimpses toward the area A.J ran off to. They don't want a repeat of what happened at Smithstone.

Louis speaks up, “A.J's hilarious.”

“You mean a handful,” Clem says, folding her pizza down the middle.

“He's a nice kid.” Louis bites his pizza. “How old is he? Ten?”

“He's _six_ , Louis,” Clem corrects.

Louis chokes on his food. “Are you serious?!”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“I thought he was older!” He makes uncertain gestures. “Don't six-year-olds wear diapers or something…”

Clementine gives him a weird look.

“I'm an only child, okay? I don't know how children work.”

Clem smirks. “I can tell.”

“I've always wanted a little brother—or sister, either one.”

As a little kid, he would constantly beg his parents for a sibling. They always said that he, and _him_ alone, was perfect for them. Later in life he realized what they actually meant: that one of him was _enough_.

“I can give you A.J for a few days. You'll never say that again.”

Louis snorts. “Probably.”

Clem removes a napkin from the pile they've garnered to wipe her hands. “Having a sibling _can_ be pretty cool.” She rests her chin on her palm and says, “A.J’s my best friend.”

Louis smiles. “That's sweet.”

Her face crinkles cutely. “That was really mushy, wasn't it?”

“It's adorable!”

She hums and they both eat their slices in a companionable silence.

“Hey, by the way, did you get in trouble with Mr. Pérez?” Louis asks.

“Hm? Oh, no, I didn't.”

“Okay, cool.”

Clementine plays with her fingers when she says, “But he did tell me next time I'm late he'll drop a letter grade.”

Louis grimaces. That's completely his fault. “ _Sheesh._ I'm so sorry about that Clem, I really didn't mean to make you late.”

“Don't be sorry.” She averts her eyes.

“No, really, that sucks and I'm sorry—maybe I can talk to him—”

“Wait, no.” Clementine's face lifts in amusement. “Don't do that, it was a joke.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “Huh?”

“He didn't say that.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah.” Clementine hides her smile behind her hand.

He scoffs. “That was a _terrible_ joke.” And yet, a grin grows on his lips. She definitely got him with that one.

“You should've seen your face. It was priceless.”

“Hilarious,” he says, the word dripping with sarcasm.

“It really was.”

Teasing looks are passed between them.

“Are you into arcades?” Louis questions.

Clem replies with, “I don’t frequent them a lot, but they’re fun.”

“What’s your favorite game?”

She shrugs. “I’ll play anything.”

That's all he needed to know.

Louis sets his palms down flat on the table. “Then let’s go.”

“What?”

Louis jerks his head in the direction of the arcade machines. “Let’s go play a few games.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” Louis slides out of the booth and stands at the head of the table. “Unless you’re scared?”

A challenging smile touches her lips. “Let’s go.”

Playing arcade games with Clementine at Level Up was the last thing Louis thought he’d be doing when he woke up today, but life is funny like that. You never know what’s going to happen.

Louis buys at least forty tokens to split between him and Clementine. The first game they try their luck at is whack-a-mole. A classic.

To tell the truth, he was never great at the game. When he was a kid, the moles would scare him every time they’d pop up without warning. He got used to it as the years went by, but he’s always a second too late with his hammer.

“Shit—!” he curses when he misses another mole by a hair.

The lights on the whack-a-mole machine flash and the music plays, signaling the end of the round. He has three hundred points. Clementine got five hundred and fifty.

“I win,” Clem triumphantly announces.

Louis narrows his eyes at the machine. “I always hated whack-a-mole.”

“ _Uh-huh._ ”

They collect their tickets and move on to the next game.

Air hockey.

Louis is confident that he’s going to win this. He and Marlon are extremely competitive over air hockey, so he’s had a fair amount of practice. In fact, he’s so confident, he ups the stakes to make things more interesting.

“Whoever gets a goal gets to ask the other a question,” Louis says from his end of the table. “Deal?”

“What kind of question?” Clem asks.

“Any question. Anything you’re curious about.”

“Deal.”

The game starts off slow and gradually picks up speed as they both get used to each other’s play style.

Louis scores the first goal, so he asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

A simple question. Nothing too invasive. He doesn’t want to freak Clem out or anything.

“Green,” Clem replies.

“Why?” Louis asks.

“Nope, you said we can ask _a_ question, not multiple,” Clem says.

“I’m changing the rules a little. We can ask a follow up question.”

“You can’t do that!” Clem objects.

“Too late! I just did it! C’mon, what fun is a game if you don't play by the rules?”

Clem sighs. “I like green because it’s peaceful. It reminds me of nature—I don’t know, okay? There’s your answer.”

Louis wipes a fake tear from his eye and sniffles. “That’s beautiful.”

Clem snickers. “Shut up.” She strikes the puck hard, and it shoots across the table into Louis’ goal.

“Whoa, wait, I wasn’t even ready!” Louis protests.

“The _rules_ never said I had to wait until you were ready.”

He pauses. “...Touché. Alright, what’s your question?”

“ _Ummm,_ what’s your favorite song?”

Louis rolls his lips inward and lowers his eyes, pensive. “Probably… _Gymnopédie_ —no, no, _Purple Rain._ But anything by Stromae is so good too…” He rubs his forehead. “God, but _Fireflies_ is one of the greatest songs ever. I—”

“Obviously this was a terrible question to ask you.”

“I have, like, twelve favorite songs. Maybe more.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I can’t help it. Good music is everywhere.” Louis shrugs. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“Not really. I can’t name one off the top of my head.”

“Not even one?”

Clementine shakes her head.

“I gotta change that.” He’s already thinking of the playlists he’ll make for her.

The game continues like this for a while. Goals get harder to score with the steady pace they’ve adopted. Clem scores the following goal and asks Louis about his favorite pet, to which he tells her the tale of his pet turtle named Geoff. Unfortunately, the tale is short. He bought the turtle from a closing pet shop one day after middle school, and hid it in a small tank in his closet for a month before his parents found out. They made him give the turtle away once they found it.

He still misses Geoff to this day.

Louis makes the next goal and asks Clem, “What’s the weirdest food you’ve ever tried?”

Clem says, “I don’t know if this counts as food, but…” before delving into her story about the time she visited a family friend’s ranch and ended up licking a salt lick.

Louis cracks up at the recollection. “Was this unprompted? Were you dared to lick it or did you just go up to a salt lick and was like: ‘This looks pretty tasty!’”

He doesn’t miss the pink tint on Clementine’s cheeks. “I refuse to answer that.”

“How did it taste?”

“How do you _think_ it tasted?”

“Salty?”

“Exactly.”

The battle for the last point is fierce. Louis defends his goal well, blocking and ricocheting the puck off the walls of the table, trying to use the angles to finesse the puck into Clementine’s goal. It’s not easy. Clem is good at reading his moves—she stops the tricks that he’s sure will get him that last point. It takes a few attempts, but a fake-out move is what wins Louis the game.

The air hockey table spits out tickets as Louis thrusts a fist in the air. “ _Ha!”_

“You got me on that last move.” Clementine rips her tickets from the table.

Louis does the same. “It hasn’t failed me yet.” He moves around the table to stand beside her. “Good game.” He raises his hand for a high-five and slaps his palm against Clem’s when she does the same.

“So, what’s your last question?” Clem asks him, folding her tickets at the perforations.

“Right, my last question…” Louis swallows. He knows what he _wants_ to ask her, he just doesn’t know if he  _should_. It's a fairly normal question, nothing too personal. His fear is he’ll come off as too forward and Clem will think of him badly. “I… uh…” He knows the hesitation makes it worse, but his tongue is stumbling over the words.

Clem directs a curious look at him.

“Have you… ever… dated anyone?” His voice gradually gets lower as Louis grows less confident. He regrets asking it almost immediately.

Clementine doesn’t seemed fazed by it at all. She blinks and simply says, “No.”

Louis exhales a heavy breath, relaxing at her casual manner. “Oh. Okay.”

“Have you?”

He wasn’t expecting her to flip the question on him. Many will say relationships are a part of the high school experience. Hormones run rampant as teens get together to break up the next day. Boyfriends, girlfriends, all of that… Louis has never concerned himself with such things. He’s never really had an interest or the time for it, if he's being truthful.

Or met the person who made him want to make time for it.

Until now.

“I—No. No, I haven’t,” he answers.

“Okay,” she says.

A wordless moment transpires between them.

“Wanna play skee-ball?” Louis suggests.

“Yep.”

And that’s that. They move on to skee-ball—claiming two machines that are right next to each other. Louis thought he had a knack for skee-ball, but playing against Clementine confirms his _very_ average skill at the game. Despite that, he manages to keep up with her. They’re neck and neck. Clem ends the round with six hundred and forty points. Louis has six hundred points and one ball left. He needs to land it in the fifty ring or the one hundred ring to beat her.

Louis tosses the ball between his two hands, readying himself.

He’s been doing this for almost five minutes now.

“Are you planning on going today, or should I leave and come back?” Clem watches him with her hands on her hips.

“I need to concentrate,” Louis says, squinting his eyes.

“Right.”

He draws in a deep breath.

_Here goes._

He tosses the ball up the ramp.

The ball lands in the largest circle—which is ten points.

“Wow!” Clementine laughs. “That was amazing.”

He scrunches up his face in disappointment, but really, he’s satisfied with losing if it amuses Clem.

Tickets shoot out of their respective machines. “I’ll win next time.”

Assuming there's a next time.

Their backs are turned as they rip out their tickets, hence their late reaction to A.J strolling up to them with a large wad of tickets bundled in his arms.

“Uh.” Clem stares at him, dumbfounded. “How'd you get that many tickets?”

“Blast Ball,” A.J says.

“You were playing that game this entire time?”

“Yup,” he says and pops the _‘p’_. “I'm the best at it.”

“What are you gonna get with all those tickets, little man?” Louis asks.

“The prize shop has Vextaur from Monster Alliance.” A determined expression darkens A.J's face. “I want it.”

Louis has no idea what it is about A.J, but he can go from being such a funny kid to the scariest six-year-old he's ever met.

“Then let's go get that, yeah?” Louis puts his tickets in his back pocket and leads A.J and Clem over to the prize center, located in the back of the arcade. A fluorescent sign that reads: ' _PRIZES'_ welcomes them as they walk in.

The walls are embellished with toys from every spectrum of the rainbow. The counters holding the registers are glass, and inside of them is every candy that ever existed. A.J marches up to the counter like a man on a mission and plops his cluster of tickets on the top. His height only allows the top of his head to see over the counter.

The woman with the perpetual smile on her face takes A.J’s tickets and feeds them to the ticket counter.

Louis notices Clem’s curious eye on the wall of prizes. “You see something you like?”

“There’s a cool lava lamp in that corner,” she responds. “I don’t think I have enough tickets to get it, though.”

Louis spots the mini lava lamps perched on the back counter—there are four of them in assorted colors. He also sees the orange label in front of them emphasizing the number '500' in black numbers.   

He doesn’t think when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his tickets. “Maybe our tickets together will be five hundred.”

Clem gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “You don’t have to give me your tickets.”

“I want to. If they don’t go to you, they’ll go to A.J.” Louis looks at the woman continuously feeding A.J's mile-long ticket strip into the ticket counter. “And I think A.J has more than enough.”

“I…” She worries her lip between her teeth. “Okay, fine, let’s see how much we have together.”

Louis flags down another employee—a boy who can’t be much older than sixteen—and points out the lava lamps. “Could you count our tickets?” he asks, piling his tickets on top of Clem’s.

Their tickets are counted swiftly and thankfully it’s five hundred and ten tickets in total.

“It was meant to be,” Louis says to Clem who smiles back at him. He points to the lamps. “One of those mini lava lamps, please, my good sir.”

The young employee turns around to go fetch an unopened box.

“Thank you,” she speaks to Louis, quiet.

“Of course,” he replies. She could've asked for the most expensive prize on the wall. He would've found a way to make it happen.

God, he has such a soft spot for this girl, it's unreal.

A.J comes forth when Clem receives her prize. He has his sunglasses on again, clutching his Vextaur plush. A candy necklace is wrapped around his neck and a huge candy ring hangs off his finger. Three lollipop sticks protrude from his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge.

Louis and Clem look at each other, then at A.J.

“So maybe bringing him to the arcade wasn't the _greatest_ idea.”

 

\---

 

The sun is gone by the time they get back to the house. Orange borders the horizon—the color fading prettily into the deep purple of the sky.

 _Lee’s not back._ Clementine notices when they pull into her driveway. Earlier in the week, she told him she was going out with a friend from school. She didn't say _who._ Since he's not here to meet Louis, there's a lot less explaining to do.

Louis carries the Smithstone bag while she holds the box with her lava lamp. She unlocks the front door and everyone steps in. The entryway is dark until Clem cuts the lights on with a flip of the switch.

A.J’s sugar high is back after his brief coma in the car. He leaps around the foyer before skidding to a stop in front of Louis. “Today was the best day ever!”

Louis grins. “I told you you’d have fun.”

“Are you gonna come back?” A.J asks, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah.” He bobs his head. “We'll hang out again.”

“When?”

Kids and their demands for details. Louis spares Clementine a quick glance—a hidden plea for help.

“Soon, A.J,” Clem reassures her brother with a hand on his back.

“Okay!” He's satisfied with that answer. He thumps up the stairs, stops mid-way, waves goodbye to Louis, then disappears to his room.

Clem puts her lava lamp box on the first step then takes the bag from Louis’ outstretched arm.

“ _Soon_ , huh?” he says, a playful lilt to his voice.

“Yeah, you should come back soon.” She sets the bag next to the lava lamp.

“How soon?” He slowly strides up to her.

She lifts her chin, playfully daring. “Very soon.”

“I'll have to check my schedule. I'm a very busy guy, y'know.”

“Whenever you can squeeze us in. We’ll be waiting.”

“I can move some things around for you.”

Clementine lowers her head, exhaling a laugh. “Thank you for today. The move hasn't been easy for A.J either, so… this helped him.” She crosses her arms. “You made him really happy.”

“I'm glad.” Louis’ voice is soft. “Are _you_ happy?”

All her life, she’s put her brother’s well-being before her own. Her family’s needs come before her own. Always. She has to be strong for A.J, for Lee, she can’t show them she’s hurting. She can't show them how lost she feels.

It’s not too hard when no one asks after her. She must be doing a good job.

Hearing Louis take an interest in how she’s feeling—even if it’s in regard to the day—is refreshing. “Yeah,” she utters. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then I'm happy.”

They smile at each other. There’s a tender but charged feeling in the air. It passes between them like a surge of electricity as they stand an inch apart. They don't speak or move, an invisible force rooting them both to this spot.  

“Clem! I need your help!” A.J shouts from upstairs, disrupting their stasis.

Clementine’s head turns towards the stairs, breaking their eye contact.

“It's—uh—getting late,” Louis splutters, moving towards the door. “I—I should go.”

“Okay.” Her heart tugs at his departure. It’s weird. “I'll text you?”

He twists the doorknob to open the door. “I'll reply,” he answers with an upward quirk of his mouth.

“Okay, see you.”

“Bye, Clem.”

 

\--- 

 

Later that night, Clementine texts Louis a picture of A.J's collection of Monster Alliance dolls. Vextaur is the newest addition to the series of plushies lined up on his dresser. She sits on her bed, adding this text after the picture:

[9:42pm] This is what he needed help with

_[9:43pm Louis] :O That’s INSANE_

_[9:43pm Louis] Now I know why he was so determined to get it_

_[9:44pm Louis] Where’s ur lava lamp?_

Clementine turns off the light in her room and snaps a picture of the lava lamp positioned on her night table. It’s a great picture, caught right as the liquid inside bubbled off, creating a yellow and orange gradient.

[9:45pm] Isn’t it cool?

_[9:46pm Louis] Hell yeah!! :D_

Clem turns her light back on and takes a gander around her room. The bare nature of it never bothered her until this moment. It’s smothering. It doesn’t feel _right._ The lava lamp on her table stares at her, compels her, causes her to pull out the suitcase underneath her bed and start unpacking.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, how about that episode four, huh? i really almost lost my mind.... but our girl is okay!!!! you can't kill her it's illegal!!!
> 
> when i first planned this chapter, it was just clem and louis on a shopping date. then as i started writing it, i added a.j because i felt like he'd be a good anchoring point for their date. they're still getting to know each other, so he's something for them to bond over (and bring them closer). also i love ninja fam, so, yeah. sometimes i self-indulge. next chapter is gonna be nothing but fluffy, tooth-rotting clouis, so prepare your hearts like i'm preparing mine. 
> 
> also, i want to thank you guys for the kind messages you leave me here and on my tumblr. when i'm gone for a while, some of you check up on me, some of you guys leave me excited messages about the next update, you gush about the story... it **Really** fills my heart with so much love. i can't thank y'all enough for the support. YOU inspire me to get up, open this crazy long document on my comp, and continue writing this story 💕
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, clouis things, etc! 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	6. can i call you tonight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!! LOL i feel like i start these notes off by saying the same thing every time, but honestly, i'm sorry for the wait. if you don't follow me on tumblr, basically i've been in a rut, but i'm back and i'm READY to give y'all a new chapter! this is even longer than the previous chapter, so get ur snacks and a blanket and get comfy ♡ enjoy!
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 _I hear your voice on the phone_ _  
_ _Now I'm no longer alone_

 _"Can I Call You Tonight?" - Dayglow_  

 

 

**MONDAY**

Things change after Saturday. Like a single drop in the ocean, the ripples start small but carry out further than anyone can see.

It starts like this.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door. She thinks nothing of it when she calls out, “It’s open!”

The door opens slowly to reveal Lee standing on the threshold, arms crossed over his pressed work shirt.

Clem halts in her action of removing her books from her bookbag and glances over at him, an unvoiced question in the raise of her eyebrow.

“Hi, Lee,” she speaks cautiously. “What’s up?”

Lee doesn’t step into her room, instead, he leans a shoulder on the doorway. “I just picked up A.J from school.”

Clem nods, confused as to why he’s saying that like it’s brand new information. He picks up A.J from school every day.

“We had an interesting conversation in the car,” Lee adds. “He told me about the _‘friend’_ you went out with on Saturday.”

Realization hits her like a tidal wave. A.J told Lee about Louis. Now she understands why he sought her out this afternoon.

She can't begin to imagine what's going through Lee's mind right now.

Clem schools her expression into a neutral one, careful not to let anything peak Lee's wariness even more.

“Yeah?” Her voice is light and airy. “What about that friend?”

Lee points to her unmade bed. “Sit.”

Her heart feels like she just leaped off of a fifty-story building. No argument or protest is made, she merely accepts her fate and sits down on the edge of her bed. Lee walks over and moves a pillow out of the way before sitting down beside her.

“I'm happy you're making friends,” Lee starts. “Ericson seems pretty friendly, yeah?”

Clem sees right through Lee's casual façade. She knows what he's hinting at. She decides to play along for now. “Yeah, it's been nice.”

“I don't remember you ever spending a day with someone _this_ fast.” Lee rubs at his knees, his tense aura emitting off of him in waves.

Clem chooses to stay silent, playing with the loose thread in her ripped jeans.

And then the rubber band snaps. “Especially a _boy_ ,” Lee says.

“We're just friends, Lee!” Clem retorts immediately.

Lee rests a hand on her shoulder, his eyes finding hers. “Clementine, you're seventeen. You're in high school. This is normal. If you're interested in this boy, then…” A painful sigh. “I have to accept it.”

“Lee—”

“Unless he's terrible. Then I forbid you from seeing him ever again.”

“Lee, I promise you, we're only friends _,”_ Clem insists. “That's _it_.”

Lee's dark eyes bore into hers. There's understanding behind his stare. He squeezes Clem's shoulder and says, “I believe you, sweet pea, I do.” He drops his hand. “It's _him_ I don't trust. I was a dumb teenage boy before. I know what goes through their minds.”

Clem furrows her brows with a frown. There's the faintest feeling of offense spreading through her chest. Lee can't accuse Louis of being a “ _dumb teenage boy_ ” as he so kindly put it. He doesn’t know him. “He's not like that,” Clem says, her tone defensive. “You have to trust me. He's really nice.”

Lee purses his lips. “I trust you. I do. I guess…” Another deep sigh. “I still see you as my little girl. I'm always going to want to protect you. I always will.”

There are no words that come close to explaining what Lee means to her—how he saved her life. How he gave her a second chance at being part of a family when no one else would. He didn't have to choose Clementine. He had a life before her that she was not part of. Yet, he stepped in the caregiver role easily.

She’ll never forget the overwhelming day they finalized the adoption papers and Lee kneeled down to her height and softly said, _“Hi, Clementine. I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”_ When she flinched away from the social worker’s outstretched hand, Lee put a hand on her back and said, _“It’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”_

Ever since that day, the mere sight of the man comforts her—her fears and her doubts never come near her when he's around. She loves Lee with her whole being. And she knows he loves her.

Clem nestles her head on Lee's shoulder. She smiles when she says, “I know.”

Lee wraps an arm around her, placing his chin on top her head. “I love you, sweet pea.”

Her eyes sting a little. “I love you too.”

They stew in a comfortable silence for a few moments until Lee says, “A.J said his name is Louis.”

His deep voice vibrates in his throat, it tickles Clem's cheek. “Yeah, that's his name.”

“It sounds like A.J _really_ likes him.”

“They're kinda best friends now.”

Lee hums thoughtfully. “I'd like to meet him. Maybe we'll get along too.”

Clem snorts and lifts her head. “Would you like to come to school with me too?” she questions with false eagerness. “Share a locker with me?”

Lee holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it.” He places a hand on his chest. “Nosy father.” He gestures towards Clem. “Teenage daughter.” He braces himself with his hands on his knees and stands up with a grunt. “I'll give you your privacy.”

Clem's mouth lifts. “Thank you.”

He steps over to the door and lifts a finger. “But I still want to meet him—”

Her eyes shut in frustration. “ _Okay_ , Lee!”

When Lee departs from her room and her door is firmly shut, she pulls out her cell phone and texts Louis.

[4:47pm] So AJ raved abt you to our dad

Louis texts back a minute later.

_[4:48pm Louis] A good rave I hope_

[4:48pm] A very good rave

[4:49pm] It was so good that my dad wants to meet you

_[4:49pm Louis] Oh shit_

_[4:50pm Louis] Should I b nervous? Is he gonna kick my ass for losing AJ? Or for giving him cavities? D:_

[4:50pm] Ok first off none of that is ur fault

[4:51pm] Secondly u don't have to b nervous. It's just my dad being… a dad

_[4:51pm Louis] Oh ok_

_[4:51pm Louis] I'm still nervous_

Clem laughs inwardly.

[4:52pm] We'll avoid my house next time we hang out, ok?

_[4:52pm Louis] Cool thank u_

 

\---

 

The cell phone in his hands holds his attention as Louis plants a foot on the first step of the grand staircase. He got home later than he usually does because he stopped for smoothies with Marlon after school. Now it's nearly five o'clock and he's just getting home after dropping Marlon off at his place.

On the walk to his front door he got a text from Clem.

He hasn’t lifted his eyes from his screen since—maneuvering through his house from pure memory.

 _Clem's dad wants to meet me?_ He pondered as he avoided the edge of the counters when he passed through the kitchen. _Meeting the father of the girl I have a crush on… That's not terrifying at all._

Louis lifts another foot on the second step, taking his time climbing the stairs as he replies to Clementine.

“Louis?”

His mother’s voice captures his attention. She appears through the dining room archway. He raises his head to see his mother floating towards him in a white, flowing dress with her brown hair pulled back into a long, thick plait.

“Hi, ma,” Louis greets as she comes to stand at the bottom of the stairs.

His mother's brown eyes land on the phone cradled in his hand. “Who are you talking to?”

Louis holds up his phone. “Friend of mine.”

“Marlon?” His parents know that they're best friends.

“Nah.”

An excited smile stretches her lips. “ _Ta petite amie_?”

“ _No._ ” Louis vehemently shakes his head, the tips of his ears feeling warm. “No. Just a friend.”

It's best not to get her hopes up. Clementine is _only_ a friend.

“Come here,” his mother says, beckoning him closer.

He descends the three steps he climbed so he's standing before his mom.

She reaches up and runs her hand over his head, pushing his dreads away from his forehead. She does this soothing motion repetitively and a calm washes over Louis—and then he remembers she likes to do this when she's about to say something he won't like.

He braces himself for impact.

“How are you _,_ _mon fils chéri_?” she asks, still running a hand over his hair.

“Drowning in homework.” Louis sighs. Senior year really sucks. “But other than that I'm alright.”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah, I'm okay.”

“Okay.” Her smile is patient as she cups his face with her hand. She tilts her head and coos in French, _“You get more handsome every day, do you know that?”_

The corner of his mouth hitches up in an embarrassed smile. “Maaa…” he complains in a whine.

“What?” She raises her eyebrows as if she's challenging him to deny it. “It's true.”

Louis decides not to voice his rebuttal.

“I spoke to your father earlier.” His mother's sunny demeanor suddenly becomes cloudy. Her smile fades and her gaze grows serious. “He wants to talk.”

There it is.

Louis jerks his head away from her touch like it stings. He makes a face. “Now?”

“No, not now,” she corrects. “He's not home yet.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Louis’ shoulders droop. Great. Now he'll have this impending discussion with his father on his mind until it happens. He'd rather talk to him now and get it over with—rip it off like a band-aid. But it's never quite that easy with his father.

His mother must feel the apprehension he emits because she gives him a consoling pat on the back and clarifies, “Not tonight, probably not tomorrow, but soon.”

“What does he wanna talk about?” Louis asks.

“You.”

A miserable groan sounds from his throat. He knows what that means. His father wants to talk about his future, or in other words, try to get him to change his mind about going to school for music.

_Again._

“ _Nous t'aimons_ ,” his mother says, words laced with care. She hooks a finger under his chin to tilt his head towards her. “ _So_ much,” she whispers with conviction.

Louis lowers his gaze with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I know.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “I have homework… so…” he trails off, hoping his mother will understand the message.

Thankfully, she gets it.

“Right,” she says and drops her hand. “I'll call you when dinner is ready.”

“Okay.” Louis climbs a couple of steps before he stops, his chest heavy with guilt. He turns around and utters, “Love you.”

With a hand over her heart, she looks at Louis with unmistakable love in her eyes. “ _Je t’aime_ ,” she replies earnestly.

 

 

**TUESDAY**

“Would you do it?” Omar asks before inserting a chip into his mouth.

The cafeteria is bustling with life—students chat excitedly and munch on their lunches. Clementine sits with Ruby, Omar, and Aasim at their usual table; the one nestled behind the brick column with the crooked posters for the dance team plastered on it.    

“Depends,” is Clementine's response. “Would I get paid?”

“Why would you get paid?”

“No way am I doing that for free.” Clem unwraps her chicken sandwich. “No sane person would.”

Omar lifts a finger. “Not true!” He turns his head to the left to address the redhead sitting beside him. “Ruby, would you?”

Ruby hums. “Yeah, probably.”

Clem scrunches her face in disgust. “Ruby…”

“What? I wouldn't mind tryin’ it!”

“Okay, so that's one yes and one no,” Omar says. “Aasim, you're the tie breaker.”

Aasim is silently scribbling sentences in his journal, completely unaware of the three pairs of eyes trained on him.

“Uh, Aasim?” Omar snaps a finger in front of his face.

A slight tremor shakes Aasim's body as his eyes snap up to meet Omar's. “What?” he questions, forced out of his trance.

“Did you even hear the question?” Omar asks.

Aasim's brows pull together. “What question?”

Omar goes, “Wow, Aasim, wow…” at the same time Ruby asks, “What's that ya writin’?”

“I'm preparing for an interview,” Aasim answers.

Confused glances bounce between Clementine, Ruby, and Omar.

“...With one of us?” Clem asks, hesitant.

“No,” Aasim says, his attention back on his journal. He continues to speak despite this. “We're focusing on students who are self-starters for the Ericson Times issue this month,” he explains. “So none of you guys.”

“Hey!”

“Rude!”

Clem laughs at Omar's and Ruby's offended outbursts. Even Aasim breaks his usual stoic demeanor with a barely-there smirk.

He can be so snarky sometimes.

“Okay, so if it's not one of us, who're you interviewing?” Clem asks, propping her head up with her hand.

Aasim pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He looks pained. “For this issue…” A heavy exhale. “The team decided to interview Louis because of the success of his band.”

A trivial mention of his name does something funny to her stomach. She doesn't know what to do with the feeling, so she ignores it.

Ruby's jaw is slack. “An’ they're makin’ _you_ interview him? Outta ev'ryone?”

“Oh, I gotta see this.” Omar snickers. “When's the interview?”

Like he was summoned, Louis appears out of nowhere, standing tall behind Omar and Ruby.

“Excuse me, press coming through!” he says with a smile, proudly brandishing his lanyard with a badge hanging from the end that says the word _“PRESS”_ printed in bold letters.

Clem is in the process of chewing her chicken sandwich when she nearly chokes on her bite.

Louis isn't in this lunch period.

Is Aasim going to interview him _now?_

Louis drags a free chair over to the head of the table and turns it so he's sitting on it backwards, folding his arms on the back. He takes the time to greet everyone, eyes darting between each member of the group before they land on her.

She has to say, watching his smile grow into a full grin is _really_ nice.

“Clem?” Louis blinks a few times in disbelief. He then blinks at everyone else, puzzled. “You guys all know each other?”

“Clem and I met by accident, actually,” Ruby says. “I introduced her to Aasim an’ Omar an’ we've been friends ever since.” Ruby directs a smile at her. “Right?”

Friends. Clem hasn't had many of those growing up. She's met plenty of people, she's exchanged names and conversation, but it's always been at a surface level. It's not often that others go out of their way to get to know her.

Perhaps there have been people who’ve thought of her as a friend in the past, but she's never been the one to say it first.

Vulnerability is a scary thing.

She's referred to Ruby as a friend in her head multiple times. Omar and Aasim too.

Never out loud, though.

The bond between the four of them exists; the friendship is there—it’s the invisible elephant sitting in the middle of the cafeteria.

Friends. They're all _friends_. It's just that simple.

“Right,” Clem confirms with a smile of her own.

“Eh, that’s not really surprising,” Louis says. “Clem’s great.”

“Yeah, she is,” Ruby agrees.

Clem rolls her eyes but her cheeks color from the praise.

“Wait—wait.” Omar narrows his eyes at Aasim. “You’re gonna interview Louis _now?_ ”

“That’s why I’m here,” Louis comments.

“I’ve been putting it off for long enough,” Aasim says, flipping to a blank page in his journal. “I asked him to meet me during my lunch and gave him a press pass so he could get out of class. Might as well get this over with before I miss the deadline.”

Louis rests a hand on Omar’s shoulder. “Can’t you tell how excited he is?” he notes in an undertone.

Omar gives a hearty chuckle at Aasim's peeved expression.

“Let's just do this,” Aasim grumbles.

“Cool!” Louis claps his hands together, eager. “What's the first question?”

Clem, Omar, and Ruby wait with bated breath.

Aasim throws them a quick, confused glance before clearing his throat. All the attention is making him uncomfortable. “Well, uh, the first question is simple,” he says. “How did Troubled Youth come together?”

“We've all known each other for years. We've been playing music together for a while, but I guess it wasn't _official_ until freshman year.” Louis taps his foot. “Yeah, that's when we started Troubled Youth.”

Aasim quickly scribbles in his journal. “What makes the endeavor successful?”

“My radiant personality and charming, good looks.” Louis smirks, lifting a shoulder in nonchalance. “Obviously.”

Omar and Ruby smother half-suppressed chuckles with their hands, giggling at Louis’ witty remark and Aasim's reaction to said remark. Clem shakes her head at them both, a shy smile tugging at her lips when Louis shoots a wink her way.

“Can you be serious for _once_ in your life?”

“I'm being very serious right now.”

Aasim eyes slide shut. “You get _more_ annoying every time I talk to you.”

“Who knew we'd get lunch _and_ entertainment today?” Omar whispers.

Clem has to admit, watching Louis and Aasim interact _is_ entertaining.

“Okay, okay, aside from my _outstanding_ personal qualities—the way we work with each other. We mesh well together. That's a big reason why Troubled Youth works. Although, I don't think playing at parties, bars, and the occasional pep rally really counts as successful. We have a long way to go.”

“What're ya talkin’ about, Louis? The entire school knows about Troubled Youth! Y’all’ve already made a name for yourselves here, ya just gotta keep goin’.”

“Definitely,” Omar says. “I wouldn't be surprised if I turned on the radio one day and heard one of your songs.”

“Guys…”

All it took was that one performance from the party for Troubled Youth to leave their mark on Clem. Does Louis not know how amazing he is?

“It's true,” Clem speaks up. “You're super talented, Louis.” His eyes lock on hers when she says this. A sudden rush of nervousness seizes her, causing her to add, “You all are—all of Troubled Youth.”

His mouth curves into an earnest smile at the compliments. “Thank you, guys, really.”

“Speaking of your music,” Aasim says, segueing back into his interview, “it’s known that Troubled Youth play their own original songs instead of doing covers like many young bands do. Why is that?”

“Aw, Aasim! You did your research!” Louis beams, raising a hand in Aasim’s direction for a high-five. “I’m so proud!”

Aasim fixes Louis with an unamused glare. “Can you just answer the question?” he requests flatly, leaving little room for refusal.  

Leave it to Louis to find a way. “You gotta gimme a high-five, first,” he says, his lonely hand still in the air.

“C’mon, don’t leave him hanging, Aasim,” Omar eggs him on.

“You can do it,” Ruby prods as well.

Aasim breathes out a long-suffering sigh, succumbing to the goading. He lifts his hand and presses it against Louis’ for a split second—the gesture not even making any noise—before dropping it.

It’s the most apathetic high-five Clem has ever seen but it sends the rest of the group into a frenzy.

Louis, Omar, and Ruby let out a simultaneous “ _Yeah!_ ” and applaud loudly, startling the students who sit on the other end of the table.

“ _Stop_ it,” Aasim mutters, vexed with the excessive attention. His body is taunt and the color of his face deepens as strangers peer over at the uproar.

The applause dies down into laughter.

“Sorry, buddy, no more goofing around,” Louis assures Aasim with a pat on his tense shoulder.

“I doubt it, but whatever,” Aasim says with a roll of his eyes. He taps his pen on the table. “What's your answer to the question?”

“Oh—uh, original music, right? Um, I've been writing music for years, but I never did anything with it. My first few attempts weren't that good. But then we came together—us, Troubled Youth—and with their help, I started writing music that fit us—that fit each of our styles.

“Vi is the backbone of every song, she’s, like, the heart of our music. Mitch is a powerhouse on the drums. He brings the beats, the songs to life. Marlon does a great job on the guitar, he creates a clear melody for Minnie to follow and that's _not_ easy. She's incredible. She can recite a textbook and make it sound good. Honestly, I'm fortunate to have such a talented group of friends who want to mess around and make music with me.” Louis fidgets in his seat. “Troubled Youth is a group effort. One hundred percent. It’s not just me.”

Aasim is writing hurriedly, jotting down all of the information Louis imparted.

 _He’s always talking about his bandmates_ , Clem notices silently. _He must really love them._

“Shit—that was really rambly, wasn’t it?” Louis twists his mouth into a grimace. “My bad.”

“No, that's how you're _supposed_ to answer questions,” Aasim says, still writing.

“ _Mhm,_ that was a really good answer,” Ruby chimes in.

Louis nods, accepting this as so. His gaze flits around the table, stopping on Clem. She puts a thumb up in a discreet gesture along with a smile that he returns.

The rest of the interview goes smoothly from that point on. There's light squabbling between Aasim and Louis, but aside from that, Aasim asks all the questions he had prepared and gets all the answers he needs to write a decent article.

“As fun as this has been—and believe me, it was a blast—I gotta go.” Louis lifts himself out of his chair. “If I stay any longer my history teacher is gonna think I’m skipping.”

“Wait, before ya go!” Ruby plucks a fresh apple from her tray and holds it up to Louis. “Here, sug, take this.”

“That's okay, Ruby, I have my lunch in like, ten minutes.”

“Oh, hush now!” She waves him off. “You watched us eat, the least I can do is give ya an apple!”

“You sure?”

“Just take the apple, man, she's not gonna let you leave without it,” Omar says.

Louis takes the fruit from her offering hand. “You're the best, Ruby.” He bites a chunk out of it and waves, departing backwards. “I'll see you guys later!”

“See ya!”

“Bye, Louis!”

Clem waves her farewell, watching his back as he walks through the lunchroom. Many students stop him on his way out—some throw arms around his shoulders while some call his name and wave to him. It’s as if people gravitate towards him, pulled into his orbit.

It’s a nice place to be.

 

 

**WEDNESDAY**

The talk comes on Wednesday. It appears all at once, without prior warning.

Louis is relaxed at the dinner table, stabbing his potatoes with a fork when his dad drops the bomb on him.

“How’s the college search going, son?” his father asks, words casual but tone taut.

Suddenly, Louis is sitting ramrod straight, his languid posture long gone. _Choose your words carefully,_ he reminds himself. “It's going well,” he says slowly.

“Which ones did you apply for?”

Louis wants to laugh. The word, “Juilliard” is on the tip of his tongue but he holds back. That’s his own secret, he doesn’t want his father to taint it with his negativity. That leaves only one other college aside from Juilliard. He knows his dad is going to hate this but there's no way around it. Might as well dive in headfirst. “I applied for Central.”

His father scoffs, his forehead wrinkling. “A community college?”

His reaction doesn't surprise Louis at all. It's one thing for him to go to school for music, it's another to go to a _community_ college instead of a prestigious university of some kind.

His father drops his utensils on his plate. They _clink_ as they fall haphazardly against the dish. He places his elbows on the table and rubs at the creases in his forehead. “Why are you doing this to me?” he questions, his voice low. He picks his head up and looks at Louis. “Is this some sort of rebellious phase?”

_Wait, what?_

“What?” Louis’ eyes are wide with shock. “You think I’m pursuing music to _spite_ you?”

His dad rubs at his eyes. “I don’t see why else,” he says tiredly, loosening his tie. He must’ve got in late from work because he’s still wearing a dress shirt and trousers.  

Louis stares at his father with his mouth agape. _Is he being serious right now?_ It feels like his head is spinning. Is this what his dad has thought all these years? That this is some disobedient _phase_ he’s going through? That he’s trying to be a musician because that’s what his father _doesn’t_ want him to be?

Louis opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find his words. “I—I don’t know, Dad, maybe I want to study music because I _like_ it?” He didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic, but he can’t take it back now, the damage is done.

“It’s not a career!” His father bursts out, pounding a fist on the table. The dishes jump in response to the force.  

“Julian…” his mother murmurs and lays a gentle hand on his arm.

For a second Louis forgot she was still here, sitting across from him on his father’s side. Always on his side.

“Do you know how _hard_ I had to work to get to where I am?” His dad fixes Louis with a steely glare. “How _hard_ I had to work in order for you to live this life you’re used to?”

Louis clenches his jaw, focusing on anything but the burning brown eyes that match his. He studies the polished wood on the dining table, looks at the glass chandelier hanging above their heads—he even glimpses at his mother, who sits there with her eyes low while her husband guilt trips him.

 _Don’t blame her,_ a softer part of his mind reprimands him.

 _Then why won’t she say anything? Why won’t she stand up for me?_ the hurt part shoots back.

“You have access to resources other people _dream_ about. You never needed to work—like that friend of yours, Marlon—because I gave you money. More money than you needed, obviously, because you turned around and wasted it all on instruments.” His father lets out a harsh breath.

 _Your steak is getting cold,_ Louis wants to say, but he keeps quiet.

“When you have a family of your own, how are you going to support them? Huh?” It’s a rhetorical question, so Louis doesn’t answer. His father does instead. “With _piano?_ ” He names the instrument with thick contempt in his voice.

Louis tries hard not to roll his eyes.

“You’re _eighteen_ , Louis, you graduate in a few months.” His father continues and Louis really wishes he’d just _stop._ “You’re not a kid anymore,” he says. His tone is slightly softer but the edges are still harsh. “No more childish fantasies.”

 _Enough._ Louis pushes his plate away from him, his food half-eaten. “Can I go?” he asks, although he’s planning on leaving even if they tell him no.

“No—” his dad starts to object, but his mother cuts him off.

“Let him go,” she says. “Go ahead, Louis.” She nods at him.

Louis pushes his chair back and leaves the table without another word. He’s exiting the dining room when he hears his mother say, “Why do you have to bring up school at the _table_ _?_ ”

“This is the only time I get to talk to him nowadays. It’s like he’s avoiding me,” his father replies.

Louis, still in the vicinity of the dining room, swears he hears his mother mumble, “ _I wonder why_ ,” in French.

 

\---

 

The late night swallows his room in darkness. There are no lights on—save for his desk lamp bathing one side of his room in an orange hue. He lounges on his rolling desk chair, his feet propped up on his desk and his laptop in his lap as he tries (and fails) to write his English paper.

His fingers hover above the keyboard, ready to start writing at any moment, but his brain is a barren desert.

“Come on, brain,” he says to encourage himself. “Think of something. _Anything_.”

The screen—save for a single “ _The_ ”—remains blank.

“Screw it.” Louis closes his eyes and leans his head over the back of the chair.

The paper isn’t due until Friday. He has time to write it later.

The stillness of his room is peaceful, it calms his rigid body from the conversation a few hours ago. He breathes in his nose, filling his lungs with all the air they can hold, then exhales out his mouth.

He releases the tension from his shoulders, loosens the muscles in his jaw, relaxes his brows. He can feel the stress beginning to ebb away from him.

Then his phone buzzes.

His eyes snap open as he looks over at his messy bed. His phone is buried somewhere in those sheets. He pushes himself from the desk and rolls over to his bed, reaching into his covers to extract his phone.

Once he finds it, he checks the screen, expecting a text or a notification from social media.

_Incoming video call from…_

“Clementine?!” he utters in disbelief.

 _Why is she calling at twelve a.m?_ he thinks as he answers the call.

Blackness overtakes his screen. He can’t see her face, or anything for that matter.

_Is my phone glitching?_

“Hi, Louis,” her voice rings out. She must’ve done something on her end, because now Louis can see her face—albeit a very dim and shadowy version of her face—but it’s still her. “Am I disturbing you?”

 _No, you could never_ , he wants to say. He settles for a simple, “No, you’re not.”

“Sorry I’m calling so late,” she apologizes. “I can’t sleep.”

Her pillow covers half of her face as she lies on her side, a couple stray curls rest on her cheek and forehead.

“I’m just lying here,” she goes on after a beat of silence, “staring at my lava lamp.”

Louis realizes he’s not saying anything because he’s staring at her like an idiot. Thank goodness his room is dark so she can’t really see him.

He rolls over to his desk so there’s some light to reveal his face. “I’ve got an idea on how you can fall asleep,” he says.

“What?”

“Close your eyes.”

Her nose crinkles. “You’re not funny.”

Louis laughs at her cute expression.

“Why are you still up?” she asks.

Louis closes his laptop and puts it on his desk. He kicks his feet up again and reclines with his phone in his hand. “I’m usually up at this time.”

“Doing what?”

His head lolls to the side. “Regretting my life choices,” he jokes with a mirthless chuckle.

Clem blinks at him. “...Is everything okay?”  

Her concern throws him for a loop. Whoops. Did he sound too serious? “Yeah, I’m fine,” he reassures her. He’s fine. He’s _fine._

Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

She’s nowhere near him. She’s not in the same house as him, nor is she in his room. She’s a small face on a rectangular screen, but he feels compelled to spill every emotion that’s coursing through him right now. He has no idea why.

His heart begins to race and his palms grow warm. She was supposed to _laugh,_ not ask after him.

“I’m fine.” He wets his lips. “I—I just had an unpleasant conversation with my dad earlier. That’s all.”

Her eyebrows knit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Are you close with your dad?”

 _Am I?_ Maybe he was, once upon a time, when he was younger and hadn’t trashed his dad’s expectations for him yet. “I used to be.”

“You’re not anymore?” she asks.

“Not really. Every time we talk it turns into an argument.”

“That’s terrible.”

He inspects his fingernails. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re a disappointment.”

“You’re not a disappointment.”

Louis snorts.

“Louis,” Clem says, voice serious. “You’re _not._ ”

“My dad called me _childish_ because I want to be a musician.” Louis plants his feet on the floor and sits up. “He thinks I’m going through some rebellious teenage phase—which would have started when I was _seven_ , by the way—because I’m doing something he doesn’t want me to do.” He leans over, elbows balanced on his knees. “If that’s not disappointment, I don’t know what is.”

If it wasn’t for the video call, which clearly showed her awake, he might’ve believed she fell asleep.

“Has he ever seen you play?” she questions.

“What?”

“Has your dad ever watched you perform?” she repeats.

Louis racks his brain, trying to recall one instance where his father watched him play _any_ instrument. It frightens him when he can’t think of a single moment in his life where his dad sat down and listened to him play _anything._ He never stayed during his piano lessons, and he never came to a Troubled Youth performance. Hell, he’s never around when Louis jams around the house for fun.

“No,” he declares, deep in thought. “Wow. He hasn’t.”

“He should,” Clem says. “He should see how passionate you are about it. How good your band is. How good _you_ are.”

“I doubt that’d change his mind.”

“You never know.”

 _She’s right,_ his head tells him. _You never know._ “You really think I’m good?”

“Yeah, I do.”

And frankly, his heart is satisfied with that.

Clem inhales sharply, her mouth opening in a yawn.

“I’m boring you that much?” Louis smirks.

“Yup, that’s why I called you,” she talks through her yawn. “I knew you’d bore me to sleep.”

Louis gasps and clutches his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “You wound me, Clementine.”

She gives him a sleepy smile and he melts.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hm?” he hums.

“Can you play something to help me fall asleep?” she asks.

“Like a lullaby? Like _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?_ ”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “An actual song, but a _soft_ song. Something calming.”

The perfect song appears in his mind. He’s instantly out of his chair and out of his room, dashing down the hallway and down the stairs. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Louis tells her, trekking through his dark house to make it to the lounge. He enters the room through the archway and sets the lights on a low setting so he can sit at the grand piano.

He stations the phone where the sheet music is supposed to go so both of his hands are free.

“What are you doing?” Clem’s eyes search around the screen, trying to figure out where he’s at.

“I went downstairs. I’m gonna play you a song on the grand piano.” He lifts the cover shielding the keys. “It sounds better this way, trust me.”

Clem doesn’t deny him, she waits patiently.

Louis sits down at the stool and cracks his knuckles before moving his hands to their starting positions. This is one of the many songs he knows by heart.

“I’m gonna play a song called _The Luckiest_. It’s by Ben Folds,” he announces to his phone. “Ever heard it?”

“Nope,” Clementine says.

“It’s a good song. It meets all your criteria.”

Clem chuckles. “Are there lyrics?”

“Yeah. Should I sing it?” he teases.

“Yeah, you should.”

His smile falls. “Wait, I was kidding.”

“Too late, you already offered. You have to sing it.”

“Damn.” He’s nervous. “Okay. I’m not Minnie, but I’ll try my best.” His hands tremble a bit. “Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

The first notes of the song pour out of the piano smoothly. His fingers move across the keys effortlessly, his concentration locked on the instrument in front of him and the sounds that resonate from it. His head is bent, dreads falling over his forehead, as he loses himself in the music.

“ _I_ _don't get many things right the first time_ ,” he sings softly. His voice is a little shaky. “ _In fact, I am told that a lot_.”

He takes a deep breath and keeps going, “ _Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles, and falls brought me here._ ”

He presses on the keys with more force—but not too hard—as the song builds. “ _Where was I before the day_ —” His eyes are on his phone now, watching Clementine watch him, her eyes half-lidded. “— _That I first saw your lovely face.._.” The corners of her mouth turn up, causing his own smile to unfurl.

“ _Now I see it every day._ ” He’s still singing to her _,_ partly wishing she was sitting next to him and not miles away in her room. But then again, maybe he wouldn't have been bold enough to do this.

He nods his head along to the music, closing his eyes as the notes become an extension of him. “ _And I know… That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest._ ”

As he plays, he finds himself subconsciously thinking, _I really am._

 

 

**THURSDAY**

“Roses for Valentine’s Day! Three dollar roses! Get ‘em while they last!”

It’s a chilly Thursday morning. Louis is on his way to his locker when he sees the table. Painted on a large pink sheet of construction paper are the words: _“V-DAY ROSES”_ written sloppily in a deep purple. Lopsided glitter hearts are sprinkled all over, and in smaller print is the sentence: “ _Support the Ericson nursery!”_

He watches as various students make their way up to the table, money in hand. He’s seen this table every year on Valentine’s Day for the past four years.

Before today, he’s never given them much thought.

He walks up to the table and stands next to a student who is hunched over, writing a note.

“Hi.” A blonde girl with glasses smiles up at him from behind the table. “Would you like to buy a rose?”

“Um, yeah,” Louis says. “How does this work?”

“Well, you give us three dollars, tell us who you’d like to give a rose to, and we’ll deliver it to them during 7th period.” The girl picks up a single red rose in a vase next to her. There’s a ribbon with a tiny card connected to it. “This is what they look like. You can write a note to go along with it as well.”

“Is there a limit on how many I can buy?” he asks.

“We usually cap it at three people.”

“No, I mean how many flowers.”

“Oh, uh, we have a limited supply… so…” she falters.

A guy with curly hair cuts in the conversation. Louis didn’t notice him sitting next to her. “How many are you looking to buy?”

“I don’t know. I wanna do a bouquet.”

“How big?”

Louis shrugs. He doesn’t know the average amount of flowers there are in a bouquet. “As many flowers as you can, I guess.”

“We can do twelve.”

“That works,” Louis approves.

The blonde girl glances between Louis and the boy.

“Write down his order, Quinn,” the boy prompts.

“Noah…” she leans towards him and whispers, “Can we do that?”

Louis feels like he’s intruding on a private conversation, so he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and stares out the window.

“We have plenty of flowers,” Noah says in a hushed tone. “Stop worrying.”

Quinn sighs. “Alright,” she says. She looks at Louis, pen ready to start writing. “Who’s this for?”

“A girl named Clementine Everett.”

She writes down the name and the amount of flowers on a list with countless other names. “Okay, it’ll be thirty-six.”

Louis reaches in his pocket for his wallet. “You guys do the whole song and dance, too?” He smiles.

“No,” Quinn says flatly.

Louis slides the money across the table. He wants to tell her it was a joke but decides against it. _Tough crowd._

“I think your girlfriend will be happy with the bouquet,” Noah comments, handing an envelope to Quinn. “No one’s ever asked to do one before.”

The word “girlfriend” sticks out like a sore thumb. He better dispel the rumors before they start to spread. “She's not my girlfriend.”

Both Quinn’s and Noah's brows soar to their hairlines. “This _isn't_ your girlfriend?” Quinn tilts her head.

“Nope.”

Noah asks, “Then what is she?”

“My friend,” Louis simply proclaims.

“Wow. You must be good friends.”

“We like each other.” Louis pauses. “As friends,” he adds.

Another student strolls up to the table, pulling Noah's attention away from their conversation.

Quinn opens a small, blank card. “Do you want to write a message for her?”

Louis grits his teeth. He wants to give these flowers to Clementine as a thank you for last night. She talked him off a metaphorical edge of despair and he's insanely grateful for that. However, he doesn't want to bring the attention to himself. He wants to give her a gift without attaching a spotlight to it.

“Leave it blank,” Louis decides.

“Blank?” Quinn gives him a weird look. “You don’t wanna say _anything?”_

Louis rubs his neck, feeling a bit self-conscious now. “Okay, maybe a smiley face?” he suggests. “Or is that stalker- _ish_?”

Quinn grimaces. “Kinda.”

Louis shakes his head. “Yeah, then just give it to her blank.”

Quinn closes the unfilled card and shrugs. “It’s your money,” she says, indifferent. “We’ll deliver the roses to her during 7th period.”

“Appreciate it.” Louis inclines his head in a quick nod and turns on his heel to leave.

 _Wait,_ his brain halts him. _What if she’s allergic to roses?!_

Louis spends the rest of the day praying that he didn’t just unintentionally poison Clementine.

 

\---

 

A knock on Ms. Kim’s door has everyone looking towards the entryway, not knowing what to expect, but expecting something nonetheless.  

Ms. Kim’s heels click across the floor as she reaches for the handle and tugs it down, revealing two students on the other side of the door with a cart of flowers.

“Can I help you?” Ms. Kim asks, polite as ever.

The blonde girl announces, “There are a couple of students in this class who received Valentine’s Day roses. We’re here to deliver them.”

What was once a quiet classroom has now exploded in hushed conversation and excited whispers.  

Ms. Kim steps out of the way. “Go ahead,” she permits.

The girl and the boy with the cart start moving around it in a whirlwind of movement, sorting and passing flowers between the two of them.

Clementine pays the commotion no mind, returning her focus to the vocabulary sheet in front of her.

Similar events for Valentine’s Day used to happen at her old schools too—cards or chocolates would get passed out to students who were recipients.

She was never one.

Truthfully speaking, it never bothered her much. She was never a huge fan of Valentine’s Day to begin with. And besides, Lee would always have a stuffed animal waiting for her when she got home.

That was enough.

“Sebastian?” the blonde girl calls out.

Sebastian raises his hand. “Right here.”

The boy delivering roses calls for Ashanti.

The name calling and delivery of roses goes on for another minute or two.

“Sophie?”

“Oh my God, Liam _and_ Royce got you a rose, Sophie?”

Clementine can hear Sophie giggle. She sits in the row behind her. “This is so funny,” Sophie says. “I don’t like either of them.”

One minute students are chattering and laughing and then it suddenly _stops_. She hears the gasps before she hears her name.

“Clementine?”

She glances up and sees a _bouquet_ of roses headed her way.

_What the hell?_

Her entire body is frozen. She can feel the eyes of every classmate on her, their curious stares piercing.

 _An entire bouquet of flowers?_ her mind reels. _For me?_

A curly-haired boy hands over the flowers to her hesitant hands. The roses are wrapped in brown paper and tied together with a white ribbon. They’re a little damp, probably recently picked as they still smell like fresh earth. They’re beautiful.

“Who—” Clem stumbles over her words. She’s still in shock. “Who bought this for me?”

The boy points to her flowers. “The card will tell you,” he informs her then walks away.

Clem scans the bouquet, rotates it, and there it is, secured by the ribbon, a small card. She removes it carefully and thumbs it open to find it… blank.

“Who are they from, Clem?” Sophie asks from behind her.

“It doesn’t say,” she replies, eyes still studying the card like a name will magically appear if she looks hard enough.

“That’s weird,” Sophie says.

“Yeah,” Clem says, returning the card to its original spot. “Yeah, it is.”

 

\---

 

“So, guess what I got today?”

“What’d you get?”

Clementine is in the kitchen, leaning over the counter as she watches Louis browse a record shop through her phone. He’s holding the phone so she can see his face, but he’s not looking at her, using his free hand to skim the titles.

“Are you looking?” she asks. “I’m about to show you.”

He stops scanning the records to watch his phone. “Okay, now I’m looking.”

Clem slowly moves to the left until the bouquet of roses come into frame next to her face. The roses are standing upright in a clear mason jar, half of it filled with water so the flowers can maintain their vibrant red. She did that immediately when she got in from school.

“ _Ooooh,_ those are nice!” Louis’ face lights up in a grin.

“They are.” Clem caresses a petal with her finger. It’s soft to touch. “I just don’t know _who_ bought them for me.”  

“A mysterious admirer?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “How romantic.”

A short laugh escapes her. “I don’t know…” Her words fade out. She tries again. “I don’t know why someone would want to buy this for me. I don’t know what I did.”

Louis resumes flicking through the records, but he screws up his face at her comment. “A gift isn’t always a reward for doing something for someone else.” He glances at his phone, but really, he’s looking at her. “Sometimes it’s just a thank you for being _you_ , y’know?”

Warm and tingly—the sensation runs throughout her body. _I really like it here,_ she thinks. She’s never felt that way about any other location she’s moved to or school she’s enrolled in. But Ericson has been one new experience after another, and she has to say, she’s enjoying it.

“This is my first Valentine’s gift,” she tells him.  

“How does it feel?”

“I never really cared for the holiday, but…” She gazes at the roses, admiration curving her lips into a gentle smile. “It’s nice.”

The snapping of a camera shutter sounds for a split second.

Clem’s eyes dart to her phone. “Did you just screenshot me?”

“No,” Louis dismisses the accusation quickly. “Hey, uh...” He looks off to the side. “The person who got those flowers for you must really like you, huh?”

“Maybe.” She purses her lips. “Or maybe it was Ruby.”

Louis makes a weird kind of strangled noise. He coughs and says, “Maybe” in a muted tone.

 

 

**FRIDAY**

The repeated jingle and jangle of Rosie’s chain leash fills the air as Louis, Marlon, and Violet saunter side by side down the sidewalk. It’s a nice Friday afternoon—the sun is shining, and the air is brisk. It’s days like this that remind Louis that spring is right around the corner.

Winter is nice and all, but the cold weather becomes dreary after a while.

“Actually, yeah, where were you last Saturday?” Violet asks, her hands stuffed in her pockets. She’s walking on Marlon’s left and Louis is on his right.

“Um—” Louis starts, but is interrupted by Marlon.

“He stood us up to go make out with the new girl,” he says, nudging Louis with the arm that’s not holding onto Rosie’s leash.

“We just went shopping,” Louis corrects him with a light shove.

Violet’s brows raise. “Wait, you actually asked her out?”  

Louis sniffs. “Yeah.”

“Shit. Wow, Lou, I’m impressed.”

“Why?” He frowns. “Did you expect me to sigh and groan over my longing to get to know her, but then never actually do anything about it?”

Violet cocks her head to the side and goes, “Uh, yeah. That’s what you _do._ ”

Marlon cackles with laughter.

Louis narrows his eyes at them. “Why do I call you guys my friends?”

Marlon throws an arm around his shoulders and says, “Because you love us.”

Louis shrugs his arm off. “I only love Rosie.” As if she heard her name, Rosie stops and sniffs the concrete. Louis bends down to pet her head and scratch under her chin. “Isn’t that right, Rosie? I only love—oh, she’s peeing.” He backs away and stands up straight.

Marlon chuckles and Violet snorts.

“So,”—Louis crosses his arms—“are you guys gonna elaborate on that cryptic text message you sent me—in the middle of my date with Clementine, I might add—or are you gonna leave me in the dark?”

The day was going perfect. Clem had found a jacket she loved, they were talking and joking around, they lost A.J and then found him—all in all, things were going great.

And then Marlon texted the group chat.

_[2:01pm Ratboy]  Ditched by 2/5_

It’s one thing to say Louis ditched them, when he told them _days_ in advance he wouldn’t be able to make it to practice last Saturday. They agreed to meet up without him, and if things with Clementine had ended early, he would’ve swung by. But it’s something else completely when someone else suddenly cancels.

“You’re calling it a _date_ now?” Marlon smirks at Louis.

“Don’t change the subject.”

Rosie walks again and everyone follows suit. They’re traveling down a quiet street not far from Marlon’s place. They pass a deserted playground that’s usually teeming with loud children in the warmer months.

“You weren’t the only one who stood us up,” Marlon finally confesses. “That’s what that text meant.”

“Who else couldn’t make it?” Louis questions.

“Minnie,” Violet reveals.

 _That’s weird,_ he muses. _Minnie has never missed practice before._ “Did she say why?”

“Nah, she was really vague,” Violet says. “She said we could still practice at her place, but we said it’d be weird if she wasn’t there, so we all cancelled.”

Marlon hums in agreement.

“Cool, so no one did anything last week.” Louis rubs his hands together, the motion warming his hands but also giving him something to do to combat the trickle of anxiety tickling his skin. “Awesome. It’s not like we have a gig next Friday or anything.”

“Dude, relax, we’ll practice before next Friday,” Marlon says.

“How?” Louis spreads his arms wide. “You work after school every day, Mitch is home with Willy during the week,”—he gestures to Violet—“Violet takes care of her grandma when her mom’s at work, and I doubt Minnie’s parents will let us practice in their garage at _eleven_ on a Tuesday night.”

“We’ll practice tomorrow, Lou,” Violet says. “Twice as long, if we have to.”

“One day of practice isn’t enough time.” He crosses his arms again. “There were things I wanted to change before—I… I shouldn’t have went out last Saturday. I should’ve rescheduled it to Sunday.” He drags his hands down his face and mumbles, “I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, man, chill out.” Marlon grasps the back of Louis’ neck and shakes him a little. “What’s with the freak out? We’ll be fine. We always are.”

Louis drops his hands and opens his mouth. “I was…” he stops himself. His conversation with Clem on Wednesday helped shed some light on his situation with his father. It felt like a slap across the face.

His father has never seen him play.

 _I was thinking about inviting my dad,_ he finishes in his head. And if he invited his dad, he had to make sure they played better than _fine_ —they had to be _perfect_.

“Nothing,” he decides to say. He forces a smile on his face and looks at his two best friends. “You’re right. We’ll be fine.”

He’ll invite him to a future gig. Not this one.

They smile back at him before a shrill ringtone starts blaring.

“Oh shit,” Violet says. “Minnie is video calling me.”

“Answer it,” Louis tells her.

Violet answers the call and Minnie immediately sings out, “Hey, Vi!”

“Hey, Minnie. I’m out with Marlon and Lou right now.” Violet turns the phone towards them so they can see.

Minnie appears to be dressed up—she’s wearing a fancy blazer with diamond studs in her ears and a deep red color coats her lips. She waves at them and they wave back.

“Hey, Min.”

“Hey, Minnie.”

“Hey guys!” she exclaims.

All of a sudden, Sophie is in the frame, her chin on Minnie’s shoulder. “Hi, Vi,” she says and then gasps. “Is that Louis?”

“It is I.” Louis waves at the phone again. “Hey, Soph.”

She looks nice. Her red hair is slicked back into a ponytail and she’s wearing silver hoop earrings.

“Hi, Lou, I miss you!” she says, now practically pushing Minnie out of frame. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in forever!”

“I love how she ignores me,” Marlon speaks under his breath.

It’s an entire family affair as Tenn shows up behind the twins, asking what they’re doing. He peeks over their shoulders and smiles when he sees who’s on the other side of the phone.

“Hi, Vi! Hi, Marlon! Hi, Louis!” His voice cracks on Louis’ name.

“ _Whoaaaa,_ was that a voice crack I heard?” Louis points out.

“Aw, Tenn’s going through puberty!” Marlon declares with a laugh.

Tenn facepalms as everyone chuckles. “It doesn’t happen that often!” he defends himself.   

“Wait, let me get Mitch on the line so everyone’s here but not really here,” Louis says, already scrolling through his phone for Mitch’s number. He taps on the video call button and it rings three times before Mitch’s serious face pops up.

“What?” is his greeting.

“Say hi to everybody,” Louis says and then angles the phone so its facing Marlon, Violet, and Violet’s phone with Minnie, Sophie, and Tenn.

They chant a chorus of “Hey, Mitch!” and “Hi, Mitch!”

“What the hell is going on?” Mitch asks, his confusion almost palpable over the phone.

“We’re having a family outing that both you and Minnie are missing out on,” Louis explains.

“It’s not my fault!” Minnie states from Violet’s phone. “My dad’s job is having this dinner thing tonight and we have to go to!”

At this point they’ve stopped walking and relocated to the nearest bench. Rosie lies down at their feet as they have a crazy three-way conversation between the seven of them.  

“Is everybody gonna show up for practice tomorrow?” Louis questions the group, pointing fingers at everyone. “No one’s gonna randomly cancel, right?”

Everyone voices their promises to show up to practice tomorrow.

“I promise I’ll be there,” Minnie vows. “Something came up last week, that was completely my fault.”

“You weren’t there last week either, Louis,” Mitch accuses. “Are _you_ gonna show up?”

“I’ll be there, I swear.” Louis holds up a hand like he’s making an oath. “You have my word.”

“Unless Clementine calls him, then he’ll ditch us again—”

“Marlon, shut the _fu_ —”

“Guys, Tenn’s on the phone!”

“I’ve heard cursing before, you don’t have to cover my ears, Minnie!”

 

\---

 

“Are you busy next Friday?”

Louis has his cell phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he sits on his bed and polishes the electric guitar laid across his lap.

“I don't think so,” Clem says into his ear. “Why?”

“We're opening for another local band—nothing crazy—and it'd be really cool if you came…” Louis winces.

_Damn, I sound so lame._

“Oh, wow! That sounds awesome.”

“ _Yeeeeah_ ,” he stretches out the syllables. “It's something, y'know.”

“Where is it?”

“This venue in town called The Tunnel. It's pretty small but apparently that's the appeal.” Louis throws the rag he was using to polish his guitar over his shoulder. “It's intimate, or whatever.”

“I definitely want to come,” Clem says.

His face instantly splits into a smile. “Great,” he breathes. “I'll see you there. If—If I don't see you before that, of course. I mean, we don't have any classes together and we're not in the same lunch period so it's hard to run into you—”

“Louis.”

“Yeah?”

“I'll see you next Friday.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to cover more time in this chapter (since it's technically the halfway point), so i went from monday to friday. this is prob the only chapter that will be like that, tbh. 
> 
> did i deliver on the fluffy clouis moments? if you've never heard "the luckiest" by ben folds, please listen to it! it's such a sweet song! i listened to the [piano instrumental](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ny1A6urtk1E) 20 times while writing this chapter. louis playing this song for clem? ugh 😭 
> 
> thank you for all the messages and comments, as always. y'all are my inspiration! 💕 your patience has been UH-MAZING and i'm forever grateful i haven't gotten an angry anon in my inbox yelling at me to update LOL i love you all sm <3
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, clouis things, etc! 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	7. parents house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another LARGE chapter for you!!! this was so fun to write omg we're getting into the drama now folks so buckle your seatbelts bc things are just gonna skyrocket from this point
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during you read or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

_Take me to your parents' house  
Check if anyone's around _

_"Parents House" - Kid Bloom_

 

 

“Hey, Clem.”

Clementine shuts her textbook and glances to her right to find Sophie standing beside her.

The redhead pulls out the empty chair next to her in a swift motion and situates herself in the seat.

Ms. Kim has kindly ended class five minutes early, granting everyone the time to get a head start on weekend homework. Of course, everyone uses the time to socialize and make weekend plans instead.

“Hi,” is Clementine's response to Sophie. They haven't really spoken since her “warning” about Louis. Since then, it's only been polite pleasantries and the occasional biology question.

Since that day, Clem's never had the desire to start up another conversation with the girl.

Sophie seems to feel differently as she smiles at Clem and says, “I heard Louis invited you to the band's gig tonight.”

Clem can't help the narrowing of her eyes when she answers, “Yeah, he did.”

There's no point in asking how she knows that. Sophie is the sister of the band's lead singer. She's around them as much as Minnie is.

Sophie pushes her hair behind her ear. “Are you coming?”

Clem nods. “Yeah, I am.”

There's a tense moment where Sophie studies her, her eyes glinting with amusement as she tilts her head. Clem averts her gaze and runs her fingers down the spine of her notebook, uncomfortable under the probing stare Sophie is giving her.

This could not get anymore awkward.

Suddenly, Sophie speaks up, “Did you hear?”

Clem's eyes dart to her once again. “Hear what?” she asks, apprehensive.

“He didn't tell you?” Sophie's tone is full of shock.

“Tell me what?” Clem's brows knit and a bundle of worry forms in her stomach.

“Troubled Youth got pushed back to a different time slot.”

 _Oh._ The bundle slowly unravels and the nerves dissolve into nothing.

“Really?”

“Yeah. The band they're opening for can't show up until ten, so now instead of eight, they're opening at nine.” Sophie laughs lightly and puts a hand on Clem's shoulder. “I'm glad I caught you before you left. I wouldn't want you showing up an hour early for no reason.”

“That's so weird. Louis told me they go on at eight,” Clem says. Sophie's foreign touch burns her shoulder. For some reason the gesture doesn't feel friendly. “When did you find this out?”

“Literally today. I'm part of the band's group text.” Sophie removes her hand and places it on her lap. “My sister added me,” she adds with a giggle.

“Oh.” Clem is at a loss for words. Part of her was expecting another discouraging lecture about Louis. Clem has no idea what’s going between the two of them, and frankly, she’s not interested in finding out. At the end of the day, it has no bearing on her own friendship with Louis.

But in this moment, the Sophie sitting next to her reminds her of the first time they met. When she was kind enough to introduce herself and ask about Clem. Kind and considerate, those were the two adjectives Clem had used to describe her. Sophie didn't have to invite her to Josh's party, but she did, and then waited for her to show up so she wouldn’t be alone—even going so far as to introduce Clem to her friends, making her feel included right off the bat.

 _That_ was the Sophie she saw herself befriending.

Maybe she's not too far gone.

“Thanks for keeping me in the loop,” Clem says with a small smile.

“Of course, Clem. You're part of the group too.” Sophie smiles back. “I'm sure Louis would've texted you later today, but it's good to know these things ahead of time, right?”

Clem inclines her head. “Right.”

“I'm so happy you're coming.” Sophie reaches for the back of Clem's chair, holding on to it. “It's gonna be so fun!” She leans forward. “Gigs like this give such good exposure for the band, you know?”

“Hey, you never know—they could get their big break playing for a bunch of drunk teenagers,” Clem jokes.

“ _Pft._ Please.” Sophie waves a hand in the air. “I bet you half of them don't even remember what happened that night.”

Clem chuckles. She's probably right.

“If you thought they were good in a living room, just wait until you see them on a stage. That's where they _really_ shine.”

“I'm excited to watch them perform again,” Clem says, twisting in her seat to face Sophie. “Josh's party felt like forever ago.”

“I know, right!”

The girls delve into a conversation about the upcoming night—Sophie answers Clem's questions about the venue and its atmosphere, and Clem indulges Sophie when the girl asks after her outfit for the gig. Clem's not one to plan outfits ahead of time, but Sophie helps her think of a nice combination she can throw on when she gets home.

“Nothing fancy, but you wanna look _good_ ,” she said with a playful gleam in her eye.

They chat amicably until the bell rings. Chair legs screech across the floor as students pack up and travel to their next class.

Clem and Sophie stand up at the same time. Clem gathers her things as Sophie says, “I'll see you tonight, then?”

“See you tonight,” Clem confirms, clutching her books.

Sophie is about to walk away when she pauses. “Wait, did Louis tell you what's happening after the show?”

“Yup, he told me about that.”

“Ah, of course he did.” Sophie shakes her head. “He just forgot to tell you about the _actual_ show.” She clicks her tongue. “Well, it's a good thing we have 7th period together.”

“Definitely.” Clem rounds the table. “Thanks again for letting me know about tonight.”

“No problem!” Sophie waves as she walks away to grab her own items.

Clem nods and then heads out the front door.

 _That was nice of her_ , she thinks as she walks down the hallway. Sophie didn't have to tell her anything. She could've left it up to Louis to update her, but Sophie took it upon herself to let her know.

 _“You're part of the group too,_ ” she said.

Her mouth pulls upward. _No, not far gone at all._

 

\---

 

“Uno!” Minnie exclaims.

“Bullshit,” Mitch says, pointing a finger at her. “You can't put your draw four on top of my draw four.”

“Yeah, you can,” Minnie says. “It means you have to pick up eight cards.”

“No way. I'm not doing that.”

“Those are the rules!” Minnie argues.

“The rules are stupid as hell!” Mitch argues back.

“Oh my God, you are the _worst_ person to play games with,” Minnie complains.

“Whatever.” Mitch drops his cards. They scatter across the deep green carpet. “Uno is a shitty game anyway.”

“ _You're_ a shitty game,” Minnie mumbles as she crosses her arms.

“Shut up.”

The dressing room is cramped. Louis thought it was a really large closet when The Tunnel staff directed them in. When the bald, skinny guy told them this is where they'll wait while the crew sets up the stage, Louis realized this is supposed to be their _dressing room._

The chipped eggshell paint on the walls are vandalized with obscene words and sharpie drawings. Minnie and Mitch are seated on the ratty leather couch pushed against one wall. Vi is slouched on a utility trunk. A pitcher of water sits on top of a wooden coffee table with a row of disposable cups wrapped in plastic laid next to it.

Louis takes this all in, standing next to a floor lamp.

They say great things start from humble beginnings, and by the looks of it, this is definitely humble.

“Anyone got a sharpie?” Minnie asks.

Mitch, Violet, and Louis glance at each other.

“No one?” Minnie sighs. “Seriously?”

“Why do you need one?” Louis questions. He can hear the muffled sounds of soundcheck happening in the background—the wailing of an electric guitar seeps in through the thin walls.

“Look around you.” Minnie sweeps an arm through the air. “The writing on the wall? Those are band names.”

Mitch examines the wall behind the couch. “This one says: ‘Get paid, get laid, Gatorade.’”

Louis snorts. “Motivational.”

Violet twists around to read her part of the wall. She trails a finger down the messily scribbled sentence as she reads, “‘Johnny Meister is a cheating scumbag, he’s the world's biggest douchebag and has the world's smallest d—'”

“Okay, so they're not _all_ band names,” says Minnie. “But majority are!” She stands up and traces a section of the wall by the door. “‘Married Thursday, Chord Five, Sindrome, The Broken Riots,’”—a gasp—“Pretty Anonymous? They performed here?” She twirls around to face the group. “This is it, guys! _This_ is our starting point.”

“What a crappy starting point,” Mitch mumbles.

“Tell that to Pretty Anonymous—oh wait, they're on a _sold out_ tour right now.” Minnie pulls out a drawer belonging to an end table. “That's gonna be us— _ugh_ , not even a pen?” She shuts the drawer with a _thunk_. “This is unbelievable.”

A second later, the door swings open and in steps Marlon and Sophie. Louis perks up at their entry. All he has to do is look at Marlon and the other boy reads the question on his mind.

“She's not here, man,” Marlon says with a shrug. “Sorry.”

Disappointment hits him like a freight train; it spreads throughout his chest so rapidly he almost staggers back from the heaviness.

She's not here.

They talked on the phone last night. He went to bed with a smile when she said she'd see him tomorrow.

 _Maybe I should text her,_ his forlorn brain thinks.

 _Nah, don't act clingy. Maybe something came up._ He stops his fingers from reaching for his phone. _She has her own life._

“But I did find Brody! So, I'm not the _complete_ bearer of bad news,” Marlon says. His eyes scan each of his bandmates. “You guys alright? They should be finished with soundcheck any minute now. I thought we'd be more excited but the energy in here is… kinda dead.”

He's not wrong. The liveliness of the room has been on a steep decline after Minnie and Mitch's disastrous Uno game. Louis is usually the one to pump everyone up before a show, but his mind was distracted with thoughts of Clementine's whereabouts. And now that it looks like she's not showing up, he's not in the mood to act all chipper.

But he knows he has to try. For the sake of his group—his _friends_ —he's going to make sure they nail this performance and have a fun night.

“We can't find a sharpie,” Louis blurts out.

Marlon and Sophie wear confused expressions.

“Do either of you have a sharpie? Or a pen?” Minnie asks, now perched on the arm of the sofa.

Marlon and Sophie shake their heads.

“Why are we looking for a sharpie?” Marlon questions.

“So we can write our name on the wall,” Violet says.

“Are we a bunch of three-year-olds? Why would we do that?”

“Oh, Marlon. Sweet, naive Marlon.” Louis moves to stand next to him. He puts a hand on his shoulder and directs his attention to the wall next to the door. “You see, this wall is no ordinary wall. It's the wall of prophecies.” He lowers his voice to sound mysterious. “Those who write their names on this wall have a bright future ahead of them.”

Marlon’s face is blank. “What?”

“Pretty Anonymous, Marlon!” Minnie shouts. “Pretty Anonymous performed in this venue! They were in _this_ room and wrote their name on _that_ wall!” She thrusts a finger at the wall. “We need to do it too!”

“That's why we're looking for a sharpie.” Louis claps Marlon on the shoulder. “First, we write our name on the wall.” He throws his hands up. “Next thing you know we're playing at the Tokyo Dome.”

“Well, shit.” Marlon smirks. “Now I wanna do it too.”

“That's the spirit!” With a snap of his fingers, Louis announces, “First person to find a marker gets to pick which music label we sign with!”

This sets Minnie and Marlon off on a frantic hunt—searching behind furniture and opening various compartments. Even Mitch and Violet start checking their surrounding areas.

Louis is in the process of checking under the coffee table when a hand on his back halts him. He looks up and finds the hand belongs to Sophie.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, tilting her head towards the door.

“Sure.” Louis gets up and reaches for the door, letting Sophie step out into the hallway before him.

He walks out and is about to close the door behind him when Marlon declares: “I think I found something—nope, _nope_! That's _not_ a pen! Pens don't move!”

Louis shuts the door behind him. “What's up?”

The hallway is narrow and the overhead lights flicker sporadically, tinting the hallway a dim blue.

Sophie places a hand on his arm in a sympathetic manner. “I'm sorry Clem didn't show.”

Louis crosses his arms. He tries to ignore the way his heartbeat quickens.

Her blue eyes glow when she says, “She doesn't get how important this is for you.”

A rapid-fire response. “That's not true.” His eyebrows furrow.

She exhales shakily. “Look, all I'm saying is that no matter what happens tonight… I'll always be here to support you.” Her hand crawls up his arm to rest on his shoulder. “ _Always_.”

The corners of his mouth turn up in a soft smile. Sophie has been with the band since the beginning. She's at every practice and she's never missed a show. For four years straight, Sophie has been Troubled Youth's biggest fan. It's comforting to know that they'll never have to perform to an empty room as long as Sophie is around. As a band member, it's uplifting. As a friend, it's priceless.

“Thank you,” Louis says, sincere. “You've always been there for us. Your support means a lot. Really.”

Sophie simpers, reveling in the praise. She tugs on the front of his unzipped leather jacket and lowers her head. “Louis… I…” Her voice fades out. It looks like she's building up the courage to say something. Louis has no idea what, though.

“I'm just…” She closes her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Uh, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me. I'm no miracle worker, but I'll try my best to help.”

Sophie gives him a tight-lipped smile. “You're so cute.”

Heat creeps up his neck. He makes a sound that's somewhere between an awkward laugh and a cough.

He's caught off guard when Sophie wraps her fingers around his face and leans up to plant a hurried kiss on his cheek.

“You're gonna kill it tonight,” she says, patting his cheek. “I know it.”

“Y-Yeah…” he stammers. It feels like his entire equilibrium was thrown off. He clears his throat. “Yeah,” he repeats, weakly.

She inserts her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and adds, “You smell really good, by the way.”

“Thanks?”

“C'mon, let's see if they found something to write with,” Sophie prompts him, nodding her head towards the door.

Right. They should go back inside. In order to do that, Louis needs to move from in front of the door. He takes a step to the right, legs full of lead, to grant Sophie entrance into the room.

She opens the door and crosses the threshold. Louis takes a moment for himself in the hallway—attempting to shake off the weird feeling that's invaded his body—before he follows her in.

It appears the search for the sharpie has ceased, if the group's lackadaisical postures are anything to go by.

Louis is about to ask what happened when the door opens behind him.

Bald Man is back.

He should really ask for his name.

“The stage is set. We're ready to go in five,” Bald Man informs them.

Louis nods. “Okay.”

Bald Man is about to duck back into the hallway when Minnie stops him.

“Sir! Wait!” she calls out. “Do you have a sharpie?”

He pats his cargo pants and extracts a marker from his pocket. “Here.” He hands it to Minnie and departs from the room, leaving the group in a stupefied state.

A minute goes by where no one speaks—all eyes in the room staring at the marker in Minnie's grip.

“Holy shit,” Minnie breathes.

Then the shouting starts.

“Finally!”

“ _Yes_!”

“About time!”

Louis urges her, “Minnie, quick, write our name before it suddenly disintegrates!”

 

\---

 

The Tunnel is located on a busy street in town where all the storefronts are bright and glowing against the night sky. The blinking, colorful lights reflect off of parked car windows and temporarily paint pedestrians who amble by.

Clementine walks down the sidewalk at a swift pace, determined to make it to the venue with a few minutes to spare so she can get a decent spot in the crowd.

Three bodies stand out to her as she nears the entrance. Deep in a conversation, they linger on the sidewalk outside The Tunnel, unaware of her presence as she approaches.

“It's so awkward. I don't know what's going on with them.”

 _That's Louis!_ And now that she's closer, she can see Violet and Minnie standing with him.

Clem advances towards them. “Hey, guys,” she says as she comes to a stop behind Louis.

Louis whirls around. “Clem?”

She doesn't miss the shock in his voice. Even Minnie and Violet seem surprised by her arrival.

Louis beams. “You made it!”

“I told you I was coming.” She smiles at him. “What’re you guys doing out here?” she asks. “Aren't you about to go on stage?”

Minnie glances at Violet. “We went on already,” she says.

Well, that makes zero sense.

Clementine frowns and her brows draw together in confusion. She looks at Louis, wordlessly asking for clarification.

“We went on at eight,” he tells her. “Now we're waiting for Kicking Dolls to start.”

The words don't register in her brain right away. That can't be right. It can't be.

She screws up her face in disbelief. “You're saying I missed it?”

Louis doesn't say anything. His answer is a minute nod.

Her lips part as a disappointed breath escapes her. “I thought…” she starts, but she can't find the words to finish.

_They were supposed to go on at nine! Sophie said…_

Sophie.

_“The band they're opening for can't show up until ten, so now instead of eight, they're opening at nine.”_

Why would she tell her that if it wasn't true? Why would she lie to her and cause her to miss the band's performance? Clem has never deliberately gone out of her way to hurt Sophie, she's never lied to her, she's been nothing but _civil_ to the girl.

So why? Why would she do this?

“Clem?” Louis' concerned voice draws her attention to him.

_“I heard Louis invited you to the band's gig tonight.”_

_“I'm glad I caught you before you left. I wouldn't want you showing up an hour early for no reason.”_

What if the reason was standing right in front of her?

Laughter bubbles up inside her chest. The answer is so obvious.

Sophie likes Louis.

And because of that, she's trying to push Clem out of the picture.

In spite of this revelation, Clem still missed Troubled Youth's gig. Louis sounded so happy when she told him she'll see him at the show. She wanted to be there for him, to support him in the way he deserved to be, the way his father wouldn't. He invited her, expecting her to keep true to her word, but instead she let Sophie's useless jealousy come between them.

_Why didn't I just text Louis? I could've asked him to confirm it._

The rational part of her almost did text him after school, but the part of her that trusted Sophie—that gave her the benefit of the doubt—won out. She let her desire to be accepted blind her. Her lowered walls allowed her to be manipulated and it sickens her that she fell for it so easily.

She won't let it happen again.

“I—” Clem swallows. “I'm sorry, Louis.” Her heart aches. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.” He gives her a half-smile.

“No, it's not okay. I said I'd be here, and I wasn't—”

“It's okay, shit happens—”

“But that doesn't excuse what—”

“Yes, it does. I'm excusing it—”

“You don't have to—”

“Too late. I already did—”

Violet and Minnie share a look. “We'll be inside,” Violet murmurs, then slinks away with Minnie.

Louis and Clem pay them no mind.

“I'm—” Clem tries to apologize again but Louis cuts her off.

“Seriously, Clem. Don't worry about it.” He holds her shoulders gently. “They'll be other shows, okay?”

His touch grounds her. She opens her mouth to respond but Louis doesn't even let her get that far.

 _“Okay?”_ he stresses.

Clem sighs with a reluctant nod.

“I'm just glad you're here now.” Louis grins. “We can watch Kicking Doll's set together. They're really awesome.” With his hands still on her shoulders, he directs her to the door. “C’mon.”

She lets him guide her through the entrance, watches as he bows his head to the man guarding the door, and leads her through the lobby. Most people have already found their way to the stage, leaving the lobby practically unoccupied.

“Nice jacket,” Louis mentions as they hike up a staircase.

She's wearing the red leather jacket he picked out at Smithstone.

“I could say the same about you.” He’s wearing a black leather jacket of his own.

“Great minds.”

The upper floor comes into view once they reach the last step. It's smaller than downstairs—furnished with four wide sofas facing each other in a square and a low table in the middle. Everything is shrouded in muted lighting, giving the area an intimate aura. To the far right, a railing prevents the upstairs viewers from falling into the crowd below. All of Troubled Youth—as well as Sophie and another girl she's never met before—are seated across from each other on the sofas.

Louis goes, “Look who I found!” as they hover behind a couch.

Six pairs of eyes turn to stare at her. She forces herself to not shrink at their gazes, embarrassed at showing up so late. Sophie's eyes land on hers and a random burst of confidence has her standing a little taller.

_You tried to edge me out but I'm still here._

Marlon is the first one to speak. “There you are!” he exclaims. He juts his chin at Louis. “That guy had me lookin’ all over the place for you.”

Clem raises an eyebrow and looks at Louis, who is pulling a face. “Just wanted to make sure you weren't lost… or something,” he says, voice low and eyes averted.

“Glad you could make it, Clem!” Sophie says, full of fake enthusiasm, her smile nothing but sharp edges.

The glare Clem gives her in return is dark enough to make flowers wilt.

“You guys solved that little couples spat you were having outside?” Minnie asks with a teasing smirk.

The unfamiliar girl gasps. “Aw, are you two dating? That’s so cute,” she coos.

Sophie’s refutation is immediate. “They’re not.”

“We're just friends.” Louis laughs but the noise is strained and warped. He swipes at his nose and says to Clem, “Have you met Brody?”  

Brody waves from her spot on the couch.

Clem waves back. “I'm Clementine.”

“Take a seat, guys,”  Marlon urges. “Soundcheck is still going on.”

So they do exactly that. Clem and Louis take a seat next to each other and the group jumps into an easygoing chat. The hubbub of a crew member repeating words into a mic and natter from concertgoers blends into the background. Mitch says something especially offhanded and it makes everyone hoot with laughter. Friends out for a night on the town—that's what it feels like for a moment. It's easy to forget about the troubles brewing under the surface when they're all hanging out like this.

“Oh, that was _bad_ ,” Minnie says, pressing her lips together to stifle her laughter.

“It wasn't _that_ bad. I mean—we didn't get booed off the stage,” Marlon amends.

“We almost did,” says Violet. “Especially when you started playing _Wonderwall_ because you forgot the chords to our song.”

Marlon grits his teeth. “Okay, look, that wasn’t my finest moment—”

“You don’t have a lot of those,” Mitch adds under his breath.  

Louis chuckles, laid back with his head resting on the couch cushions. “It was our first official performance. I fully expected one of us to faint.”

Minnie raises her hand. “Me. I was close.”

“It’s so weird to hear about your bad performances,” Brody says, leaning against Marlon’s side.  “I can’t imagine you guys not being _good_.”

“We weren’t good for a while,” Marlon recounts, a faraway look in his eyes. “It took a lot of practice to get to where we are now.”

Clem envisions a reality where she grew up with Louis. In that alternate universe, she got to watch everyone in Troubled Youth evolve from timid musicians to cool and confident performers. She would’ve loved to see that progression.

“All that practice paid off.” Sophie pats her sister on her back. “You guys were _amazing_ tonight. Probably your best performance.”

“Definitely,” Brody agrees. “The crowd went crazy during every song.”

An involuntary frown tugs at her lips. She doesn’t want to pout, but damn—she’s so bummed she missed it!

The force of a light nudge has her glancing to her left. Louis looks at her with a small, reassuring smile. She returns it, but disappointment still stubbornly clings to her spirit, especially when she catches glimpses of Sophie.

Everything went wrong so fast.

Noisy applause and excited cheers start up out of the blue. A knowing look is passed around before everyone gets up and races to the railing to get a good view. Clementine ends up standing next to Louis, shoulders touching, as they watch Kicking Dolls appear on the stage below them.

“What’s up, everybody!” the lead singer shouts into the mic, generating more cheers. His long brown hair flows behind him as he dashes across the stage, holding out the microphone to the crowd, tattoos running up and down his arms. He laughs and then says, “Before we start, I just wanna make a quick shout-out to Troubled Youth.” He nods as the applause starts back up. “Yeah, that’s right, give ‘em a hand! They fucking rock!”

Clem joins the crowd in their praise, clapping her hands together and shouting a quick: “Woo!”

So what if she wasn’t here to see their performance? She knows they were amazing and she’s going to show her support anyway.   

The lead singer of Kicking Dolls appears to have spotted them on the balcony, because he uses his hand to shield his eyes from the spotlights and speaks into the mic, “I see you guys up there!” He points a finger. “You all kick ass!”

Louis points back at him and then cups his hands around his mouth. “Love you, Rex!” he shouts.

A few people giggle and snicker, meanwhile Rex just smiles and responds with, “Love you too, buddy!”

Rex then takes the time to introduce each of his bandmates. When that’s said and done, he situates the mic on the stand and grips it tightly while he introduces their first song. A couple of people hoot when he announces the title, familiar with the song. The spotlights lower and the slow strumming of an electric guitar begins. The song builds quickly, the other instruments joining in at the appropriate moments.

The bass-heavy beat is catchy. It's even catchier when Rex starts to sing. Clem clutches the railing and bobs her head along to the rhythm, meanwhile Louis crosses his forearms on the railing.

They're standing so close that their hands touch with every micro-movement. The first two times are accidents—Clem leans too far to the right, or Louis gets bumped to his left. The third and fourth times are mere coincidences. Clem isn't counting, but their hands graze about ten times in the time it takes Kicking Dolls to get to the second chorus of their song.

She doesn't want to assume, but it seems like there's more than just gravity at play here.

She sneaks a peek at Louis, who is watching the show with a keen eye, paying her—or their hands—no attention. The opportunity to look at Louis a little longer presents itself in that moment, so she takes it, her gaze lingering on the profile of his face. She watches as the colorful lights bathe his face in different hues, the knit between his brow as he observes the performance with rapt attention. The wheels in his brain are turning, she can definitely see that.

Once more, his fingers brush against hers. It steals her focus. She glances down to glance back up, but his face hasn't changed.

Well, she can change that.

She taps his shoulder.

He leans his head towards her, but doesn't take his gaze off of Kicking Dolls.

Slyly, she slips her arm through his and tucks her hand in his hand. If she didn’t have his attention before, she certainly has it now. Louis stands upright in a jerky movement, as if her touch jolted him with electricity. He looks at her with wide eyes and she stares back with a daring lift of her eyebrow. To take it a step further, she lifts their clasped hands and intertwines their fingers. Louis thaws when this happens, his mouth curving as he briefly squeezes her hand. She squeezes back with a smile.

Clementine startles as roaring cheers fill the venue. The music fades out as the song comes to an end. Louis, still watching her, grins at her shock. He bends towards her and she moves toward him, expecting him to say something worthwhile.

Instead he quips, “People tend to cheer after a song! Just a heads-up!”

Clem rolls her eyes and playfully pushes his arm. Barely moving from the shove, he barks out a short laugh, still holding her hand securely.

 

\---

 

“ _Heeeeeey!_ There they are!” Rex declares. “Come on! Come in!” His gestures are animated as he ushers the group into their dressing room.

After the show, Louis gathered all of Troubled Youth and herded them backstage to congratulate Kicking Dolls on their great performance. Also, to thank the band for allowing them to open their show. Louis has followed Kicking Dolls since he was in middle school. He's watched the band blossom from their obscure days—uploading their music on social media and busking on sidewalks—to recently getting signed and working on their first album. Never in a million years did he think a nonchalant message on Twitter would turn into a steady friendship with the lead singer. As a fellow local musician, Rex took it upon himself to give Louis pointers on developing a band and getting his name out there. Louis felt encouraged watching a band from his town make something of themselves. He saw Troubled Youth in Kicking Dolls.

_If they can do it, so can we._

Everyone exchanges friendly greetings, clapping hands and throwing out hugs.

Louis pretends to bow, waving his arms up and down in a ‘ _not worthy_ ’ motion. “We're in the presence of greatness!”

Rex shakes with laughter. “Nah, nah, stop it!” He puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder to halt him. “I should be doing that to _you_. You're insane, man.” He lightly knocks his shoulder with his fist.

Louis smiles ear to ear. “We were opening for you, so we brought our A-game tonight.”

“A-game, _okay_.” Rex scoffs. “It was way more than that. Right, Yuya?”

“Yeah, you guys really killed it out there.”

The group glows at the compliment.

“They gave you such a nice room,” Marlon says, stepping up beside Louis. He's not wrong. This dressing room is much more spacious and way cleaner than the room they were in earlier. Plus, the walls are free of any lewd sketches. “I'm pretty sure they put us in an old utility closet.”

Otis—the bassist, who was previously chatting with Mitch—says, “Oh, they put you guys in the inked room. We've been there before.”

“Yeah, everybody's in there at least once,” Rex comments. “It's not a bad thing. It's kind of a tradition to write your band's name on the wall—”

“We did that!” Minnie shouts excitedly. She directs a pointed glare at her friends. “Told you.”

“It sounds weird, but we did it too, and well… look at us now,” Rex says with a smirk.

He can feel goosebumps form on his arms underneath the sleeves of his jacket. Depending on luck—or silly customs like writing on a wall—won't get them anywhere without hard work. Still… There's nothing wrong with wishing on a star every once in a while.

Maybe Minnie was right. Maybe this is their starting point.

The doorknob twists and all eyes in the room land on the man who steps in. He's dressed in a black button down shirt and black jeans. A pair of small glasses shield his beady eyes as he scans the room.

“Look at all this talent together in one room,” he says with a low chuckle. “I love it.”

“Hey, George,” Rex welcomes the man.

“Am I interrupting anything?” George asks.

“Nah, we were just talking.”

“Perfect. Mind if I join the conversation for a minute?” George stands next to Rex and surveys Louis casually. “I’d like to officially meet Troubled Youth.”

Louis shoots out his hand before Rex can reply. George shakes his hand firmly. “Hi. I'm Louis.”

“George Powell. Kicking Doll's agent.”

 _Oh shit._ He's talking to a real life, professional music agent. _Cool, cool, cool. Play it cool._

George smiles. “Mind introducing me to the rest of your band?”

Right! Duh! God, he messes up spectacularly at the worst times. Louis stops shaking the man's hand and steers his attention to his friends.

“This is Marlon, our guitarist.” He goes down the line. “This is Mitch, our drummer. This is Violet, our bassist. And this is Minnie, our lead singer.”

George shakes all of their hands. “Louis,” he says, “I saw you switch between keyboard and guitar. You play both, I'm assuming?”

Louis nods. “I play whatever the song calls for.”

“He also writes and composes,” Rex sneaks in. “Kid is an amazing musician.”

“Wow.” George's eyebrows raise in awe. “Well, I have to say, you all sounded great in the video Rex showed me, but you're _fantastic_ in person.”

“Thank you!”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I thought Rex was crazy when he asked me to let a _high school_ band open for them tonight, but boy am I glad I gave it a shot.” George rubs his hands together. “And you!” He homes in on Minnie, wagging a finger at her.

“Me?” Minnie questions, looking confused.

“Yes, you! What a voice! You're a star, young lady.”

“Oh, I—I'm—” Minnie stammers, the tips of her ears coloring. “Thank you, sir.”

Louis grins proudly. He agrees wholeheartedly. Having Minnie in Troubled Youth is like having the most succulent cherry on top of the world's biggest sundae.

Weird way to put it, sure, but the sentiment is: she's an amazing addition to an incredible group.

George glances at his wrist. “I'm sorry to pop in then pop out, but I gotta go.” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a small card. “Here, please, take this.” He hands the card over and Minnie just so happens to be the person in front of him to take it. “This is my business card. Give me a call once you graduate.”

He places a hand on Rex's shoulder on his way out. “We'll speak later,” he says to him and then is opening the door. “You kids are gonna go far!” he exclaims before the door shuts.

It's quiet. Everyone lets the dust settle after that unexpected visit.

“Well, _that_ happened,” Louis says with a blink.

Minnie still has the business card in her hand like she's holding a precious egg.

“Keep that card safe,” Rex instructs them. “George knows a lot of big names in the industry. Don't tell anyone, but,” Rex lowers his voice, “we're in talks to go on tour with Electric Killers this summer.”

Minnie squeaks while Violet reads the business card still in her hand.

“ _Electric Killers?_ ” Marlon gapes. “They're all over the radio right now.”

“Hell yeah they are. They're going on a world tour this summer and you might be talking to their opening act for the North American leg.” Rex smiles at his bandmates.

“Shit, dude, congrats!” Louis fist-bumps Rex.

“I don't wanna jinx anything, but yeah, George is a good contact to have.”

Louis glances over at the card and then at Marlon and Mitch. They both seem to be thinking the same thing as him.

_This is big._

“So.” Louis clasps his hands together. “We gotta celebrate.”

“Y'all have fakes?” Otis asks.

Mitch glares at Marlon when he says, “Not all of us.”

Marlon gives him a smug smirk.

“Nah, but my parents are out of town this weekend and I'm having some friends over to chill in my pool.” Louis shrugs. “If you guys have no plans after this, you're more than welcome to stop by.”

Rex grimaces. “It's kinda cold outside…”

“It's an indoor pool,” Louis clarifies.

“Well in _that_ case, we'll buy a couple of beers and then swing on over!”

Louis laughs and tells Rex he'll text him his address later. Both bands say their goodbyes and Louis leaves their dressing room feeling like he's on cloud nine.

Can tonight get _any_ better?

 

\---

 

Louis’ house is huge.

Clementine finds it hard not to get lost when Louis shows everyone to the pool. It's in the back of the house with large windows giving a glimpse of the backyard and the other—outdoor—pool.

She doesn’t understand why someone needs _two_ pools, but she won’t question it either.

What people do with their money is up to them.

Speaking of money, learning about Louis’ financial situation was a surprise to say the least. She never assumes the monetary status of anyone. It’s rude, and she tries not to fall into the hype of stereotypes. People are more than the oversimplified ideas others deem them to be.

However, Clem isn’t perfect. If she had to guess something about Louis, “rich” would have been the second to last prediction on her list. And it has nothing to do with outward appearances or material things.

It has everything to do with how down-to-earth he is.

For the time she’s known Louis, he’s never acted snobbish or elitist—not that those traits are exclusive to wealthy people. He hasn’t exploited his benefits or boasted about his possessions, which she’s sure he could if he wanted to. He’s never strayed from the sweet, goofy, musically talented boy she knows him as.

She can appreciate that.

The smell of chlorine clogs her nostrils once she walks into the pool room. The heaters are on, warming her skin and no doubt warming the blue water. Clem and Brody appear to be the only people who've never been here, the rest of the group disappearing behind two dark doors.

“Those are the changing rooms,” Louis explains, pointing at the doors as he passes them. “You guys can go change in there.” And then he’s gone behind the door as well.

Brody strides over to the door with the female silhouette on it, leaving Clem by herself.

When Louis told her to bring a bathing suit, she didn’t know what to expect.

 _Maybe they’ll go to a foam party,_ she thought. _Or maybe there'll be a house party with a funny kiddie pool or… something._

Those ideas sound silly to her now.

Standing before the large and _alarmingly_ deep pool, she now realizes the kind of predicament she’s in.

He assumed she could swim.

She can not.

 _How embarrassing._ She frowns, staring at the still water. A seventeen-year-old who doesn't know how to swim. That’s one for the record books.

So instead of changing into her bathing suit—which is conveniently under her normal clothes—she claims a lounge chair and takes off her jacket, sitting in her t-shirt.

The group starts to emerge from the changing rooms, excitedly chatting and joking around. Marlon and Mitch are talking near the edge of the pool. Clem watches as Minnie sneaks up behind him and pushes Marlon forward, causing him to flail and land into the pool with a messy splash.

Mitch watches this unfold without doing anything to help.

Brody and Sophie crack up as Marlon surfaces, pushing his hair out of his eyes and spewing curses at Minnie.

An upbeat song with a pulsing bass erupts from the speakers in the ceiling. The beat encourages more people to get in, either by jumping in or taking the stairs one at a time to accumulate their body to the water.

Across the pool, her eyes are drawn to Louis, who is standing off to the side, typing something on his phone and mouthing the words to the song. He changed into blue swimming shorts and a plain white t-shirt. She notices Sophie strolling up to him, her hands behind her back. She’s wearing a black bikini with a towel wrapped around her legs.

Sophie says something to him and the corner of his mouth hitches up. He puts his phone on a small, round table and walks around the pool with Sophie beside him.

She makes sure to school her expression into one of indifference, but it’s difficult not to stare daggers into the girl’s back.

At least they’d match the one Sophie stabbed into hers.

Clem tears her eyes away from them, but that’s when they spot her. Even though she’s not looking, she can feel their gazes on her. Out of her peripheral, she sees them making their way over to her.

She closes her eyes and winces when Sophie calls her name.

“Hey,” Sophie says, standing next to her chair. “Are you not getting in?” she asks with a pout.

Clem shakes her head. “No, I’m okay with watching.”

“You sure?” Louis asks.

She looks up at him and almost backtracks seeing his disappointed face. Holding her breath, she nods. “I’m kinda tired. That’s all.”

“Want me to sit with—”

“Lou, _c’mon_.” Sophie tugs his arm. “Let’s go swim.”

Louis glances at Sophie, then back at Clem. “I… Let me know if you need anything,” he says to Clem before Sophie drags him away.

Faking a smile, Clem watches with little interest as Marlon beckons Louis closer. Louis, ever trusting, is in the process of kneeling down when Marlon yanks his arm and pulls him into the pool. Due to her grip on Louis’ arm, Sophie also turns out to be a victim.

“ _Ugh!_ Marlon! My towel!” Sophie groans, her red hair hanging around her face like a curtain, meanwhile Louis shakes the water from his dreads.

Clem laughs at her clumsy fall, covering her delight with her palm.

“Thanks for soaking my shirt, asshole,” Louis complains. He prys the wet material off his frame and chucks it at Marlon. It hits the boy in the face with a moist _smack_.

“Ow!” Marlon whines, tossing the shirt out of the pool and jumping on an amused Louis, forcing him under the water.

The boys start play-fighting, splashing and creating waves in the water as they move to the deeper end of the pool. Minnie cheers them on, adding her own commentary.

Suddenly, the chair next to her dips as someone sits in it. Clem twists around to find Violet. She’s wearing a dark t-shirt and gym shorts.

Clem keeps to herself for a few minutes, as does Violet. The girls listen as the song fades out and a woman starts crooning out the new one.

She’s never had an actual conversation with Violet. Actually, she thinks the only time she spoke to Violet was when she was introducing herself. Because of this, she decides to speak first. “Not a swimmer?”

“Just not in the mood, I guess,” Violet replies. She glimpses at Clem. “You?”

“Same.” Clem shrugs. “Plus, I don’t wanna get between that.” She makes a motion towards Louis, who has Marlon in a loose headlock.

Violet snorts. “Yeah, they’re idiots.”

Clem smiles and their little chat fizzles out. They sit together without talking, but it’s not uncomfortable. Truthfully, Clem is grateful that she’s not the only one watching everyone enjoy the pool from the sidelines.

Ten minutes—or fifteen minutes, Clem's not paying attention to the time—pass when a shrill ring cuts through the air.

Louis, previously floating on his back, rights himself and says, “That's my phone! Rex is here! Marlon and Mitch, go let them in and help them bring the drinks to the kitchen.”

Marlon and Mitch perk up at the prospect of drinking.

“On it,” Marlon says, hauling himself out of the pool and dripping water all the way to the door. Mitch follows behind him.

“Take a towel!” Louis clicks his tongue.

“I’m gonna go help ‘em with the drinks,” Minnie says.

Louis smiles. “Of course you are.”

Minnie splashes Louis on her way out of the pool. “C’mon, Vi, Brody, let’s help.”

Violet stands up and waits for Minnie by the door. Brody exits the pool after her.

Minnie adds, “Sophie, I’m gonna need your help finding my way back, so you come too.”

Sophie whines. “How many times have you been here, Min?!” She swims over to the stairs.

“Yeah, well I don’t remember shit about anything, so your argument is invalid.”

“Bring me back a cold beer!” Louis calls after Minnie. “If it’s warm I’ll cry!”

“What’s the magic word?” Minnie asks over her shoulder.

“Please!”

“I’ll get you one, Lou!” Sophie says, and then the four girls are gone to take on the maze that is Louis’ house.

Once the door closes, Louis fixes his narrowed eyes on Clem.

With her cheek cushioned in her palm, Clem raises her eyebrows. “What?”

“Still tired?” Louis asks, gliding over to the edge of the pool.

She turns her face away. “...Yes.”

“Be honest.” Louis rests his elbows on the border. “Can you swim?”

 _Damn. Is it that easy to tell?_ Clem deflates, slowly exhaling. “...No. I can’t.”

“Shit, Clem, I had no idea. I’m sorry. I would’ve done something else—”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. I just never learned how.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. Clem bites her lip to hide the immense embarrassment crawling up her spine.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” Louis asks, wiping a droplet of water that snakes down his forehead.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “It’s under my clothes.”

“Want me to teach you?” he suggests.

“What?”

“Um—I mean...” Louis looks at the ground. “You have your bathing suit, I have a pool. I can swim, you can’t. Let me give you some pointers. You won’t be Olympics material by tomorrow, but I can—uh—I can at least teach you how to float.”

He’s rambling again. It’s cute.

“Are you being serious?” Clem asks.

He nods, resolute. “Very.”

A small smile reveals itself on her lips. She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Okay.”

Sitting here, watching everyone else have fun in the water has filled her with a longing to join them.  

Louis smiles back at her. “Well then, come on in! The water is fine on this—oh, I, uh...”

Clem’s fingers drop from the hem of her t-shirt. “What?”

He jerks his head in the direction of a wall opposite of her. His voice gradually climbs in pitch when he asks, “You’re gonna change right here?”

“Uh, yeah? I told you, my bathing suit is under my clothes.” She resumes pulling her shirt over her head.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna stare at this very interesting wall.”

Clem rolls her eyes and slips out of her jeans, remaining in her bathing suit shorts and cropped top. Everyone took their shoes off at the door, so she’s completely ready to get in.

Right then. Let’s get on with it.

She stares at the tranquil water, trying to build up courage, but worry still slithers around her throat like a snake.

_Don’t think about it, just do it._

She walks over to the stairs and dips a toe in, then instantly removes it.

“Louis.”

“Huh?” He’s still staring at the wall.

“I’m in.”

He’s looking at her now. “You’re on the stairs.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but the first rule of swimming is: you have to be in the water.” He waddles over to the shallow end, where the stairs are located. “Is the water too cold?”

She puts her foot in. “No, it’s really nice.”

“Imagine how it feels when you’re actually in it.” He reaches out his hand. “Want me to hold your hand?”

A warning glare is sent his way. “Don’t patronize me.”

He recoils and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “I’m not! I swear!”

“Okay, I’m just gonna—” Clem doesn’t give herself any warning, she descends the stairs and dunks her body in the water.

Big mistake.

Immersing herself in water makes her nerves skyrocket. She utters a yelp and immediately reaches for the wall to hang on.

“Clem, it’s okay, it’s really shallow over here,” Louis says. “It’s only five feet.”

She’s only two inches taller than the water!

“I’m fine here,” Clem says, hugging the wall.

“I can’t teach you how to float if you just hang on to the wall.”

“That’s okay, swimming is overrated—”

“No, Clem, c’mon.” He holds out his hand again. “You have to trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looks into Louis’ earnest eyes and draws in a deep breath. Placing her hand in his, she lets him guide her away from the wall and into the middle of the pool. She’s pretty sure she has Louis’ hand in a death grip, but if he’s in pain, he doesn’t show it.

“You nailed the first step!” he says with a grin.

Clem furrows her brows. “Which is?”

“Getting in the pool.”

She cups water in her hand and splashes Louis.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he drags a hand down his face. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Alright, so here’s how we’re gonna do this. I’m gonna hold you back as you lie back. Kick off the bottom of the pool and I’ll support you while you relax,” he explains with wild gesticulations. “Before you know it, you’ll be floating.”

Clem gives him a look that screams ‘ _are you serious?_ ’ “That sounds impossible.”

“I promise you it’s not,” he says, moving closer to her. “Let’s try it.”

He lets go of her hand and her breathing becomes short and shallow. With a hand on her upper back, he instructs, “Okay, now try to lie back.”

Her first attempt is a total fail. She panics as her body tips to the side, forcing Louis to catch her before she sinks to the bottom of the damn pool. Her arms scramble to latch on to something solid, so she clings to Louis, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck.  

“Wait, Clem—wait,” Louis laughs and squirms a bit, “you’re tickling me _and_ choking me at the same time.”

Clem repositions herself in a messy tangle of limbs, loosening her hold on his neck and moving around to hang off his back.

“That was a good first try!” Louis aims to encourage her, but his words have no affect on her. She’s _never_ trying that again. He attempts to unravel her arms from around his neck. “Wanna try again—”

“ _No_ ,” she says sharply, tightening her hold on him. “ _Never_ again.”

“Okay, okay.” He weakens under her hold, literally and figuratively. “Choking, again.”

She softens. “Sorry.”

“So. Swimming lessons were a fail. What now?” Louis asks, turning his head to regard her.

“I don’t know,” Clem says. “But the water feels nice.”

“Does it?” Louis drifts towards a deeper area of the pool.

A panic-stricken Clem wraps her legs around Louis’ middle, body taunt with fear, resembling a koala clinging to a tree. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he reassures her. “I’m just walking around, giving you a free piggyback ride.”    

“Do you usually charge?”

“Depends on how generous I’m feeling.”

“And why are you feeling so generous today?”

Louis mentions Troubled Youth’s encounter with a notable music agent when they went to go congratulate Kicking Dolls. He’s speaking so enthusiastically, telling her every detail of the story. Between the soothing warmth of the water and Louis’ voice, she grows sleepy with the combination.

She sets her chin on his shoulder, idly thinking about how nice and sturdy they are. “Do you think anything will come of it?” she questions when he tells her that the agent gave them his card.

“Maybe, maybe not. We won’t know unless we try.” The water now is up to his neck. He uses his arms to push the water away for easier wading.

A wet curl sticks to her cheek. “That’s great news, though.”

Louis hums his assent.

“You just got quiet,” Clem says.

“I did?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

Louis scrunches his nose. “I’m thinking.”

She tilts her head. “About?”

“I was—” he hesitates. “I was gonna ask my dad to come to the show tonight.” He sighs. “Turns out he wouldn’t have been able to even if I did, since he’s out of town. But, yeah… The thought was there.” He spares her a side glance. “Thanks to you,” he says, his voice gentle.

Her heart does a somersault behind her ribs. The sensation is overwhelming, floods her entire body with tingles, down to her fingertips. She’s never felt like this before.

It causes her to nestle her chin in the curve between his neck and shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

He pats the arms wrapped around his neck. “Thank you.” When he reaches one side of the pool, instead of turning around and gliding to the other side, he stops and grabs the edge. “ _Phew_ ,” he breathes. “My legs hurt. Water aerobics is no joke. Now I know why my grandma does it.”

Clem snorts. “Okay, old man. Don't move. I'm gonna get out.”

She stretches an arm out and grabs onto the lip of the pool, transferring herself from Louis’ back to the water. She lifts herself up and over, twisting around to sit on the edge, her legs dangling in the water.

“Man, it's been an eventful day.” He pushes his hair from his forehead, holding it back with a hand. “Weird too.”

“Weird how?” Clem props herself up with her arms behind her.

“Get this—my car definitely had a flat last night. So I put it in the garage, right? Then when I went to check it this morning, the tire was fine. No flat.” He drops the hand he's using as a hairband, causing his dreads to loosely fall around his head. “Then before we went on at The Tunnel, Sophie kissed me.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “She kissed you?”

“On the cheek.”

Clem doesn't mean to laugh, but the noise escapes her before she has the chance to stop herself. _Of course she did._ Her stomach coils at the thought of Sophie worming her way into Louis’ personal space. Sophie doesn't deserve him.

“That's not surprising.” She chews on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something insulting.

Louis is oblivious to her anger. “I know. We're friends. Friends do stuff like that.” He rolls his lips inwards. “I don't know. It's just—she's never done _that_ before, y'know?”

Apparently, he's oblivious to more than just her anger.

“Wait,”—Clem puts up a hand—“you know Sophie likes you right?”

He narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do _I_ mean? She has a crush on you.”

_And it's not a normal crush either. It's an enormously possessive, proprietorial, and jealous crush, where she lashes out against anyone she sees as a threat._

Those words remain in her mind.

His face contorts in uncertainty, as if he spent his whole life believing the sky was blue and Clementine just told him it's actually green. “We're friends,” he insists, but the words falter. “We've been friends for years.”

She scowls, her frustration building. “You think I'm lying to you?”

“No, I didn't say that,” Louis defends. “I just can't imagine Sophie liking me in that way.”

Her temper has been climbing a mountain of patience, but his ignorance has triggered an avalanche that sweeps away any reticence. “Oh _really?”_ she rounds on him, “because it was easy to imagine when she told me the wrong time of your gig so I'd _miss_ it.”

Louis frowns, positively bewildered. “Why would she do that?”

“I don't know,” Clem snaps, getting up and walking to the chair where her clothes are. “Ask her.”

Louis’ gaze trails after her. He twists in the water to watch her. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she grumbles. Irritated beyond belief, she stuffs her head through her t-shirt, ignoring the fact that her bathing suit is still wet.

“Clem, wait—!” He makes haste for the stairs, pausing when the doors swing open and everyone filters in.

“Yo, Louis!” Rex hoots. “I got some stuff for you in the kitchen, my man!”

Their appearance has Clem throwing her jeans over her shoulders and booking it to the door, disregarding their stares at her departure.

 _Get out of here, go, go, go,_ her mind repeats the word like a mantra.

She slides her jeans on in the hallway, laces up her shoes by the front door, and hurries to her car. She catches her breath as she sits in the driver’s seat, her jacket thrown in the backseat. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, her skin uncomfortably tight and hot.

That was bad.

Now that she’s by herself, her mind starts to clear. Her anger towards Sophie caused her to blow up at Louis. That’s not fair to him. He really had no idea. She just got so _mad_ at the image of Sophie kissing him—

No, wait, she’s mad that Sophie lied to her and made her miss Troubled Youth’s gig.

 _That’s_ where her anger comes from.

Not at the concept of Sophie and Louis together. That doesn’t concern her.

She huffs and stabs her key in the ignition.

Louis can date whoever he’d like. They’re just friends.

She swallows down the rising nausea.

And perhaps that’s all they’ll ever be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *RIPS SHIRT OFF REVEALING ANOTHER SHIRT WITH THE WORD "CLOUIS" PRINTED ON IT* 
> 
> btw, just in case ur curious, the ages of the guys in Kicking Dolls range from 21 to 23. they're a relatively young group
> 
> i gotta get goin after i post this, so i'll come back and add some more author notes later!!! love you all!!!!!!! love you all sm!!!! your comments give me LIFE!!!!!!! 
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, clouis things, etc! 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	8. dreamin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter... *chefs kiss* i'm in love with it, i hope you are too <3 
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during you read or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 _Tell me girl, do you feel the same?_  
_Am I dreaming?_  
_Is it the real thing?_

_"Dreamin'" - Benny Sings_

 

 

He calls her three times during her drive home, and then calls another three times when she’s actually _in_ her home. 

She lets every single call go to voicemail.

He texts her apology after apology on Saturday.

She never replies.

On Sunday, he leaves a voicemail. 

The notification sends her heart into a frenzy. She hasn’t spoken to him since Friday night. Is he angry with her for ignoring him? She figures she would be angry with him if their roles were switched. He really doesn’t deserve this cold shoulder she’s giving him, but she also can’t find the courage within herself to reach out to him. 

She’s intentionally pushing him away—guarding her heart from impending doom. Louis makes her feel _so_ much at once. Emotions that she can’t name, emotions she’s never felt before—they appear when she’s around him. It’s amazing and terrifying at the same time. What is she going to do if Louis decides she’s not worth the effort? How could she live with herself knowing that she ruined their friendship over her own stubborn inhibitions? 

Imagining her life without Louis’ silly jokes, his creative mind, or his reassuring smiles sends panic through her system. In a mere month, he’s become a constant in her day-to-day routine. Whether it’s talking on the phone, texting late at night, or hanging on the weekends—there hasn’t been a recent day where she hasn’t been in contact with Louis is some form. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment he successfully slipped through her defenses and settled somewhere near her heart, but there’s no denying it at this point.

Louis is important to her.

Important in a way she never thought she’d feel for someone other than Lee and A.J. The thought scares her. All this time, she's been digging herself in a hole and it's only _now_ that she looks up to see how deep it is. 

How the hell did this happen?

She tries to ignore her rapid heartbeats as she brings the phone to her ear and listens to the mechanical voice tell her that she has one new message. There’s a beep and then there’s his voice: low and soft, slightly wavering. A feathery light sensation tickles her ribcage. He’s nervous. She’s nervous.

They’re a mess. 

 _“Hey, Clem. I_ — _um_ — _I hope I’m not bothering you. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. It’s one thing to text an apology, but it’s another to actually… y’know… say it out loud. I’d apologize to you in person but I’m getting this weird feeling that you don’t wanna see me right now.”_ He huffs a laugh under his breath. _“Anyway, yeah. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you Friday. What you told me about Sophie_ — _it took me by surprise, but I believe you. I have to talk to her.”_

Clem winces. She’d prefer it if he left it alone. Sophie will definitely contrive an alternate story to make herself seem like the victim.

 _“Uh, shit, your voicemail is gonna cut me off. Uh, okay! I’m gonna go. I’m sorry and I miss you_ — _I mean I miss talking to you_ — _I… Yeah. Bye.”_

Another beep, then the mechanical voice says: _“End of message. To delete, press seven. To save, press nine. To…”_

Clem removes the phone from her ear and stares at the screen for a moment. He misses her. It’s been two days since they last spoke. Two days. Maybe a little more than forty-eight hours. And he _misses_ her.

She bites her lip.

The funny thing is: she misses him too.

She presses the number nine on her screen and ends the call. Opening her contact list, she scrolls down until she spots his name. 

_Louis._

Her thumb hovers over the call button. She should talk to him. He's been trying to reach out all weekend and she's given him nothing to work with. 

_Call him, Clementine. Just do it._

She's not surprised when her fingers press the lock button instead, effectively shutting the screen off. She tosses the phone away from her and it lands at the foot of her bed, face down on her sheets.

"Please don't hate me," she mutters, bringing her knees up to her chest.

 

\---

 

"Clem? Hey, Clem." A whistle. "Clem. _Clementine!"_

Clem blinks once, then twice, then looks at Omar. "Huh?"

He's staring at her, a concerned knit between his brows. 

She glances around the lunch table to find Ruby and Aasim are watching her as well. 

"You alright, sug?" Ruby asks with a frown. "You don't look well."

"Yeah, you're just staring off into space," says Omar. He points at her untouched pizza slice. "You're not eating either."

Even Aasim turns towards her and asks, "Are you okay?" 

A spotlight shines down on her head, blinding her vision and searing her skin. Her neck is burning, her ears itch, she's all-around uncomfortable. She doesn't feel like she belongs in her body.

"I'm—" Her breath catches. "I'm fine. I just…" 

Their stares are _so_ much. 

She pulls at the sleeves of her sweater. "I'm not hungry." 

"You gotta eat somethin', sug," Ruby says. 

The cafeteria is _so_ loud.

Clem shakes her head. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Omar questions.

 _Stop staring at me like that!_ her mind yells.

Or so she thought.

"Whoa, okay!" Omar holds his hands up. "Sorry!" His eyes dart to Aasim, who looks back at him with an equally confused expression. 

The guilt almost chokes her. "Omar—oh my gosh—I'm sorry." She covers her face with her hands. "I didn't mean to…" 

Her head hurts.

She can't do this right now.

A wave of dizziness almost knocks her over when she stands up. Without another word, she swiftly exits the cafeteria—dodging body after body—and ends up in the hallway. It's much quieter, but there's still a few students ambling by. She hurries to the nearest bathroom. Pushing the door open, she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees all of the stalls are empty. She walks over to the sinks and presses a hand over her thudding heart. 

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

She hasn't been herself today. Nothing feels right. Getting through the day feels like navigating through a dense fog—she can't think straight, and now every turn, every path she thought she knew has suddenly become unclear. 

The girl displayed in the mirror is her. She turns her head to and fro. The girl does the same. She tucks her curls behind her ear. The girl copies.

It's _her_.

So why does she feel so out of body?

She jolts when the hinges on the door squeak harshly. 

 _No, no, go away. Just give me a moment alone, please_ —

But when it's Ruby that rounds the corner, her muscles relax. 

"Clem?" She slowly steps up to her. "Everythin' okay? You seem upset."

"I'm f—"

Ruby wags a finger. "Don't say you’re fine! Obviously somethin' is botherin' ya! So you’re either gonna tell me what, or I'mma have to pry it outta ya!"

Clem opens her mouth to convince Ruby she's okay, really, she is, but a puff of air comes out instead. She takes in Ruby's passionate glare, her thin mouth, her crossed arms, and decides she has to stop lying. 

To herself _and_ to her friends.

"I'm… I'm upset," she confesses. "I… I think I ruined things with Louis."

Ruby's expression melts into one of compassion. She places a hand on Clem's shoulder. "What do ya mean? What happened?"

"We got into an argument this weekend. It was really small—and really stupid, but I just blew up at him. For something that wasn't even his fault." Clem puts a hand over her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut. "And now he probably hates me."

"He doesn't hate ya! Hell, he _can't_ hate ya—he's Louis! That boy ain't got a mean bone in his body."

"But I've been ignoring him all weekend."

"Why?"

Clem wraps her arms around herself, her shoulders lifting to her ears. "I don't know!" 

"Well, Clem, ya need to make up your mind." Ruby puts her hands on her hips. "Do you wanna talk to him or not?" 

"I do!" Clem asserts. "But… I'm scared." 

"Scared of what?" 

"I'm scared things are gonna be different between us." Clem shrugs again. "I just want us to be friends."

Ruby furrows her eyebrows. "But y'all are already friends!" she states.

"I guess," mumbles Clem. She can't explain why she's scared to talk to him. There are no words to describe the sinking feeling in her stomach. Louis and her are friends—she knows this. But there's a shift in the air, it's like she disrupted a perfectly constructed puzzle and now that she's trying to put it back together, the pieces don't fit the same. 

Ruby purses her lips. The _drip drop_ of a leaky sink echoes off the bathroom walls. "Have ya ever thought…" Ruby takes a breath and continues, "that maybe you want to be more than friends?" 

An involuntary shake of her head. Her body reacts before her mind can process what Ruby is implying. "What—?" she sputters. "What are you talking about?" 

"Hear me out!" Ruby holds up her hands. "It's just… Y'all sound pretty close. You've said—on numerous occasions—that y'all talk ev'ryday! You get this look on your face whenever his name comes up—don't you look at me like that—I've noticed!"

Clem's cheeks deepen in color.

"You even said your lil’ brother loves him!" 

"That doesn't mean anything!" Clem argues.

"It counts for somethin'!" Ruby shoots back. 

Clem rubs at her eyes until stars burst behind her eyelids. "So, you're saying…"

"I'm _saying_ that you're not scared to talk to Louis because ya think you ruined y’alls friendship. You’re scared to talk to him because ya don't want to _only_ be his friend," Ruby finishes for her. 

 _Is that true?_ she asks herself. Are these unknown emotions actually the beginnings of a crush? Can she even see herself with Louis in a romantic sense? Sure, she enjoys being around him. He makes her feel relaxed. She doesn’t have to act a certain way to gain his approval, she can be herself. He likes her all the same. And it’s nice, the attention he gives her. She’s not one to demand all eyes be on her—in fact she prefers the opposite—but when she’s with Louis, his attentiveness doesn’t make her shy away. It makes her feel special. 

It surprises her—how comfortable she is with him. The hours they’ve spent talking on the phone, the moments they’ve shared together in person—they add up, but she’s always looking forward to spending more time with him. Hearing his voice, holding his hand, listening to his laugh, watching the cute dimple in his right cheek form when he smiles…

Alright. Maybe Ruby has a point.

Nevertheless, this is new territory. This is Clementine’s first real crush. What if she tells Louis how she feels and he doesn’t feel the same? The comfortable familiarity of their friendship would be tainted with discomfort—it’d possibly never be the same again. Is she willing to risk that?

Ruby rubs her arm when she tells her these concerns. “That’s a risk ev’ryone takes at some point. Sometimes ya just gotta take that leap, an’ hope they catch you.”

Clem narrows her eyes. “Did you read that off a card or something?”

“Maybe I did!” Ruby pouts. “I’m tryin’ my best here!” 

“I know—I know.” She smiles. “Thank you.”

“That’s what friends do!” Ruby says with a determined nod. “Now, let’s start with somethin’ small—reachin’ out to Louis. Do you wanna talk to him?” 

“I do.” _So, so badly._

“Well then c’mon, now!” Ruby hurries her with a gesture. “Text the boy!”

Although her muscles scream in protest, Clem grabs her phone and unlocks the screen. She takes a deep breath and opens her texts with Louis. Their last conversation was Friday morning. If only the Clem from three days ago knew what present-day Clem knows. Things would be very different right now.

“He always responds fast,” Clem tells Ruby as she types out her message. Louis always responds to her texts. Even if he’s in class. She tries not to disturb him during school—because he _will_ chance getting in trouble just to talk to her, he’s done it before—but this is important.  

[11:54am] Hey. Can we talk?

The girls wait a minute. Then two. Then three.

There’s no reply.

Sorrow dulls her expression. “I knew it. He hates me,” she laments. She locks her phone and stuffs it in her pocket in a sullen manner. 

Ruby frowns. “Stop it. He could be takin’ a test right now! He’ll reply soon.” With a gentle hand on her back, she guides Clem to the door. “C’mon, let’s head back before the boys start to worry.” 

They’re about to open the door when it _whips_ open at a high speed—the person on the other side shoving it to enter the bathroom. Ruby and Clem jump back to avoid being hit. 

Clementine—who was about to order the stranger to be more careful—is unexpectedly face-to-face with cerulean eyes and shiny red locks. 

She freezes.

Sophie does too.

They stare at each other for a suspended second—confusion rendering them motionless.

 _She’s really pretty_ , Clem muses numbly. _If only her heart wasn’t so ugly._

Sophie’s lips unfurl into a smile that _looks_ friendly, but is edged with a chilling undercurrent. Like a cat flexing it’s claws—it may appear sweet and harmless, but can do serious harm when provoked.

“Clem!” Sophie greets, joyous. “I’ve been meaning to text you. Are you okay? You looked pretty angry when you left on Friday.” 

She can’t play this game with her anymore—she _refuses_. Sophie doesn’t have to act like she’s her friend anymore. She can stop pretending to care about her well-being. The jig is up. They’re on even ground now.  

Clem clenches her teeth. This anger has been stewing within her all weekend. It’s about time she let it out. “You _lied_ to me,” she hisses. “You _wanted_ me to miss their show.” 

The snake sheds its skin—Sophie’s false concern morphs into irritation as she rolls her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, apathetic. She folds her arms and lifts a shoulder. “And you fell for it.”

Clem bristles at her bluntness. “Listen,” she starts, her hands on her hips, “I don’t wanna be your enemy. I don’t even want an apology. I want you to leave me alone. That’s it.”

Sophie cocks her head to the side. “Then stay away from Louis.”

Clem steps forward, gets right in her face, and looks her square in the eyes—light brown fixed on blue—as she utters a simple but forceful, “ _No_.”

Panic flashes in her eyes for a split second before her face hardens. “He’d never go for someone like you. You're _nothing_ to him—just some new girl he feels sorry for." 

Her fists curl at her sides. _Calm down_ — _calm down. She’s riling you up on purpose. Don’t sink to her level._ Clem inhales a deep breath, chest expanding, before she sighs it out of her nose. Taking a step back, she says, “Think what you want—I don’t care.”   

Sophie’s shoulders fall a bit, her bravado shrinking at Clem’s dismissal. “Whatever,” she spits. “Have fun being his charity case,” she sneers, then turns on her heel.

Clementine lurches forward, but a hand wrapped around her arm stops her.

“ _Nuh-uh!_ Let’s go!” Ruby orders, tugging Clem to the door. 

The girls successfully depart from the bathroom and make their way back to the cafeteria. Thankfully, the hallways aren’t overflowing with students yet. 

“ _Sheesh_ ,” Ruby breathes, marching beside Clem. “I really thought you were gonna punch that girl!” 

“I wanted to,” Clem grumbles.

Ruby glances over her shoulder. “Who is she anyway?” she asks in an undertone.

“No one worth knowing.” She’s so tense—her fingernails are leaving crescent-shaped indents on her palm. 

“Ya sure about that? Because y’all looked about ready to scratch each other’s eyes out.” 

“ _Ugh_.” Clem buries her head in her hands. “What am I doing?” This isn’t like her at all. She doesn’t get into petty disputes. Fighting over a _boy?_ Of _all_ things? Did no one tell her she’s apparently starring in some cheesy teen drama on primetime television? 

“I’m assumin’ that argument back there had somethin’ to do with Louis?” Ruby guesses.

“Yeah. Sophie likes him,” Clem explains tiredly. “She doesn’t want me near him.”

Ruby scowls. “Why I’ve—! Who does she think she is?” she huffs, her face progressively growing redder. “She doesn’t control you _or_ Louis!”

Clem appreciates Ruby’s exasperation. It reminds her she’s not alone in this—she has like-minded people in her corner. “She’s super possessive. More than anything, I feel sorry for Louis. He has to deal with her more than I do.”

“Poor boy.” Ruby _tsks._  

They come to a stop outside of the cafeteria. There are only a few minutes left in the lunch period and Clem hasn’t eaten a thing. She knows she’s going to regret not munching on her pizza when her empty stomach growls in the middle of a quiet class. 

Oh well. It's been a stressful day.

"Clem." Ruby's voice halts her from walking in the lunchroom. She fixes her with a meaningful look and whispers, “You’re not gonna let this Sophie girl come between y’all, right?" 

She could. It’d be easier if she kept Louis at arm's-length and poured any desires she had for a closer relationship down the drain. She’d get over it one day. Sophie would be off her back, at least. 

But the more she thinks about it, the more she’s repulsed that she even considered it. 

"Right," Clem responds, secure in her answer. She smiles at Ruby, and Ruby smiles back.

“That’s my girl.”

 

\---

 

New York is crazy. 

The city was _extremely_ noisy. Louis’ ears are still ringing from all the honking. The streets were congested with cars—the majority of them being aggressive yellow taxis that cut each other off and stopped in the middle of the crosswalk.

Louis is positive he was almost the victim of a hit and run. _Twice_.  

If it wasn’t a car almost mowing him down, it was a person on the sidewalk bumping into him as they hurried past, shooting him dirty looks along the way.

He learned very quickly that New Yorkers do _not_ like tourists.  

Which is not a word he would’ve used to describe himself during his trip to the city. He wasn’t in New York for a vacation, he was there to audition for his dream school. 

Holy shit. He can’t believe he can say that.

He auditioned for Juilliard.

Juilliard invited _him_ to come audition. 

He booked the first flight that came up on Google when he received the email from Juilliard, asking him to confirm the date and time of his audition. 

Monday afternoon? It was during school but fuck it, he couldn’t care less. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Was he really going to miss it just so he could doze off in Mr. Hurley’s history class? 

Hell no!

He’s sure his teachers will understand when he explains why he was absent. 

But anyway, yeah, New York is crazy.

He got lost maybe four times on his way to Juilliard—the combination of getting on a bus, getting off, walking a few blocks, getting on the subway, transferring to another line, and then walking a couple of more blocks was enough to make his head spin. Sure, he had his phone’s GPS to help him, but there’s only so much a GPS can show you. 

He'd be some kind of navigation wizard if he didn't get lost.

A kind middle-aged man took the time to explain how the subway worked while Louis was waiting for his train to show up. They fell into a deep conversation when the man—whose name was Lincoln—asked Louis where he was headed. Louis mentioned his Juilliard audition and the conversation was steered to music. Lincoln told Louis he used to play saxophone in a jazz band and Louis told Lincoln about Troubled Youth. 

At some point they started talking about their lives, and Lincoln revealed that he was recently kicked out of a homeless shelter. He barely had enough funds to get on the subway, let alone purchase a hot meal. 

Louis had a hard time swallowing the fact that he’d sleep in a warm bed tonight, meanwhile this man would have nowhere to lay his head. 

The harsh realities of life were like a stinging slap to the face. 

Before he got off at his stop, he offered to buy Lincoln lunch. The man refused until he realized Louis wasn’t going to let him say no. He eventually consented, and they ended up stopping at a small bagel shop. Louis ordered two bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches and they ate them while leaning against a wall, chatting amongst themselves while sipping on soda. 

When it was time for them to part ways, they shook hands and wished each other well. Lincoln told him to “Knock ‘em dead!” and it stuck with him the entire day. 

He’d like to think those words are why he didn’t pass out when he finally reached Juilliard. 

How can he knock them dead if he dies _first?!_

He kept himself upright and conscious through sheer willpower. In his mind, the entire audition process took ten minutes—he wrote some stuff down, sat in a chair, warmed up in a private room, walked into a theater room with _a lot_ of elegant and sophisticated looking people, greeted them, introduced himself, played a Mozart sonata, then walked out. 

In real life, it took an hour. An anxious mind has the ability to warp the longest amount of time into seconds. 

He left the audition feeling good—not amazing, seeing as his pinkie did slip on a key—but fairly confident. He gave it his all, and at the end of the day, that’s all he could’ve done. 

Unfortunately, he had to forgo the tours and info sessions in order to catch his flight home. He would’ve loved to see more of the school, but he had to get back at a decent time. 

He’d say six-thirty is decent. 

Throwing his backpack into the backseat of his car, he gets into the driver’s seat and slumps over the steering wheel, catching his breath for the first time today. His legs are sore from all the walking, his back is stiff from the plane ride—he just wants to plop down on his bed and sleep until he has to get up for school tomorrow. But he doubts he’ll be able to sleep with the way his mind is turning right now.

An hour.

Eleven years of his life have led up to that audition—and it took an _hour_.

Years of tirelessly practicing the piano until the instrument became an extension of himself, hours spent studying sheet music until he could hear the notes he needed to play with one listen, sleepless nights full of self-doubt and worry—he had _sixty minutes_ to make it all worth something.

Yeah, he’s going to be restless until he gets that letter of acceptance. Or rejection. Either one.

He sits up and shrugs off his black blazer, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt. Throwing the jacket to the backseat, he pulls out his neglected cell phone. He hasn’t checked it all day. Notifications swarm his screen when turns off airplane mode. He scrolls through them mindlessly, swiping away the ones he doesn’t care about. Nothing catches his attention until he reaches the end.

_[11:54am Clementine] Hey. Can we talk?_

_Oh shit! Clem texted me! What time did she…_ Louis squints as he reads the time stamp underneath the text bubble. _Eleven in the morning?! Shit!_

He ghosted Clem for six hours. 

(After she ghosted him all weekend, but still.)

Change of plans. His bed can wait. This is much more important.

 

\---

 

[7:02pm] Hey. Wanna talk now?

[7:02pm] I’m free and currently in ur driveway

Louis cuts the engine and waits for a reply. Did he jump the gun by driving to Clementine’s house? Perhaps. But he was too excited at the fact that she finally reached out to him to think clearly. 

A text, a phone call, not even video chat would suffice. 

He had to see her. 

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t feel weird just sitting here in his quiet car, staring at her house. The driveway is empty—his car is the only vehicle on the lot. 

What if she’s not home?

Even worse, what if she doesn’t want to see him? What if her text was actually the beginning of a rejection? If she asks him to leave, he’ll leave without delay. 

_[7:04pm Clementine] R u srs?_

[7:04pm] Yea

Louis holds his breath waiting for her reply. Nothing happens for five minutes. He’s about to give up hope when the front door to Clem’s house opens and she steps out in jeans and an oversized hoodie. 

He nearly trips and gets a face full of gravel—that’s how fast he hops out of his car.

Clem jogs down her porch stairs and advances towards him, arms folded. “You’re lucky my dad and A.J aren’t home,” she says as she gets closer.

He jams his hands in his pockets and smiles at her as she approaches. She’s wearing the same hat she wore at Josh’s party—that well-worn blue and white baseball cap. That was the night they met. Oh, how fast time moves.

“Where are they?” Louis asks, eyes flicking to her front door then back to her. 

Clem stops in front of him. “They went to grab some food.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I said I wasn’t feeling well.” The gravel crunches underneath her feet as she kicks at it with the toe of her shoe. 

Louis hums. “Do I have something to do with that?”

She looks at the ground and mumbles, “Maybe.”

They’re right on the cusp of nightfall. The sky is a deep purple and the first stars of the night have started twinkling. A crescent moon hangs above their heads, beautifully illuminating the sky. 

“I’m sorry.” He licks his lips and softly says, “I wanted to tell you that in person. If you want me to leave, I’ll—”

Clem speaks so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“You don’t?”

“No.” Her eyes scan his face like she’s seeing him for the first time ever. Everything ceases to exist under her stare. “I’m not mad at you.”

His eyebrows pinch together. “You’re not? ‘Cause you looked mighty angry when you stormed away from me on Friday.”

Clem grimaces and glances off to the side. His body grows cold from the absence of her gaze. He didn’t think that was possible. “I was a lot of things, okay? If I was mad, it wasn’t at you. You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what were you mad at?”

Clem exhales a weary sigh. “Nothing.” 

Louis sidesteps her blatant brush-off and pushes on. “Is this about Sophie?” he questions. “I meant it when I said I’d talk to her. What she did was really messed up, but—”

“No, _no_ , it’s not about her—”

“Then—”

 _“I’m mad at myself!”_ Clem exclaims abruptly, her voice echoing and her eyes glossy. “Alright? I’m mad at myself.” 

His heart breaks. “Clem…” He frowns, tormented by her sorrow. He’d do anything to make her feel better. “Hey,” he says in an attempt to gain her attention. She refuses to look at him. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he moves his thumbs up and down in a calming motion. “It’ll be okay,” he says, his tone hushed. 

Clem has her head turned to the side so all he sees is the top of her hat, the brim covering her face. Slowly, she moves closer to him until her head rests on his chest. He envelops her in a hug, which in turn, invites Clem to wrap her arms around his middle. It’s nice—being close to her like this. She fits so easily in his arms. Her height allows him to rest his chin on top of her head.

A car whooshes past her house. Glaring headlights brighten the vicinity for a split-second before darkness engulfs them once more. 

“I’m sorry,” Clem whispers, her hands gripping the back of his shirt.

“For what?” Louis asks. His heart is thumping against his chest. He wonders if she can feel it.

“For screwing everything up.” 

Louis gets the impression that she’s not talking about Friday. Well, it doesn’t matter. Whatever she’s talking about, he wants to set her mind at rest. “It’ll be okay,” he repeats, securing his hold around her shoulders. “I promise.”

“I like you, Louis.” 

Louis smiles. “I like you too, Clem. I love being your friend. I don’t wanna lose you.”

She stiffens under his hold. Alarms screech in his head.

What’d he say wrong?

Clem disentangles herself from their hug and fixes her serious gaze on him. “No, Louis, I _like_ you,” she explains, stressing the word. She chews on her bottom lip. “More than a friend.” 

Louis’ brain stops functioning. 

His ears start smoking.

He merely stands there in a vegetative state, blinking at Clem like she just spoke pig latin.

His lack of a response has Clem wrapping her arms around herself, hands gripping her upper arms. The lack of light does nothing to hide the color on her cheeks. “It felt wrong—keeping that to myself. I had to say something,” she says, avoiding his eyes. “If you don’t like me back, that’s okay.”

His mouth moves before his brain. “No, no, no, no, _no,_ ” he chants like a fool.

She glowers at him, offended. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

 _Snap out of it!_ He mentally slaps himself. Clearing the fog from his mind with a shake of his head, he gathers his thoughts and tries to translate them coherently. “No, Clem—listen—I… I’ve had a crush on you from the moment we met.”

Now it’s Clem’s turn to be dumbfounded. “What?”

“Yeah.” Louis laughs lightly. “It was—it was instant. As we got to know each other, the crush got bigger, but we also had this really cool friendship going and I didn’t wanna ruin that so I just kept my mouth shut.” He catches his breath. “I never thought you’d like me back.”

“Why not?”

 _That’s_ a can of worms he doesn’t want to open right now. “I’m me. You’re you.” He motions vaguely in the space between them. “I’m sure you’ve met cooler people in the other places you’ve lived. Y’know.”

“I've met other people, but no one like you,” Clem says, a glimmer in her eye. “You're different. I like that.” 

“Aw.” He scrunches up his face. “You’re cute.” He grins.

The corners of her mouth turn up. “You’re cuter.”

Louis sucks in a long breath and utters, “Is this really happening? Are we… Are we admitting we both have feelings for each other?”

Clem nods. “I think we are.”

Louis emits a breathy laugh. “Wow.” Pure, unadulterated joy flares throughout his body. The sensation of floating tricks his legs into thinking he’s suspended in the air, his stomach somersaulting like a gymnast. 

He auditioned for Juilliard a couple of hours ago but _this_ is the happiest he’s been all day.

Clem likes him. This wonderful, lovely, beautiful, remarkable girl likes _him_. Louis. The guy who accidentally spit his mouthwash on the floor instead of the sink this morning because he was sleepy and miscalculated the distance.

He can’t believe it.

Clementine breaks him out of his reverie when she reaches for his hands, holding them in her own.

“Let’s go on a date,” he blurts. He’s not really thinking. All he knows is this feeling is addicting and he doesn’t want it to end.

“Right now?” she asks, skeptical.

“Yeah.” He squeezes her hands. “Right now.”

“Where?”

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

_That’ll do._

 

\---

 

Louis drives to Mad Beef. It’s the first place that popped up in his mind. Casual enough where they can be comfortable while still having a great menu. He orders their food at the front counter before they sit in a booth against the wall. 

A blend of chatter and music fills the air. Louis drums his fingers on the table, following the song’s beat, while Clem leans back and plays with her fingers. Everything in him is screaming to tell her about his trip to New York, but he clams up. He hasn’t told anyone—not even his parents. It’s come to the point where he doesn’t know _how_ to bring it up. Juilliard is his own little secret—something he’s trying to accomplish by himself. 

He’d rather it stay that way.

Louis meets Clem’s eyes across the table and they smile at each other before looking elsewhere.

Apparently, he’s not the only one struggling for a conversation topic.

This is so unlike them. They’ve never had trouble starting a conversation before. They can talk about anything. So why all of a sudden do they not know what to say to each other?

“ _Soooo_ …” Louis drawls. 

Clementine shifts in her seat. 

Louis presses his lips together before he says, “Let’s make a pact.”

Clem raises a brow. “About?”

“Whatever happens, we won’t let _this_ ,”—he makes a circular gesture with his hands—“affect our friendship.” He holds a hand out. “Deal?”

Clem reaches over and clasps his hand. “Deal.”

They shake.

“Besides, if we let things get awkward between us now, imagine how it’ll be when I meet your parents,” he says, resting his elbows on the table. “I really might die of embarrassment.” He quickly adds, “And I refuse to die until I’ve been in a flash mob.”

She’s not paying attention to him—instead, a pensive expression clouds her features. 

“I have to tell you something,” she says, voice taut and serious.

Louis is quiet.

“I’m… I’m adopted.” She twiddles her thumbs. “My parents died when I was five—went on a day trip and left me with a babysitter. They never made it home.”

 _Whoa_. He was _not_ expecting that. At all. 

Perhaps for the first time in his life, he’s at a loss for words. Throat tight, all he manages to say is: “I’m so sorry.” 

Clem shrugs—literally _shrugs_ —as if he told her Mad Beef is out of strawberry shakes and she’ll have to get a vanilla one. The nonchalant gesture is unexpected and makes Louis feel like he’s overreacting to the news of her parents' _deaths._

“The funny thing is—I barely remember them. All I remember is a soft voice and a comforting presence. But specific memories? Nothing.” She crosses her legs under the table and twists her mouth to the side. “That used to make me feel terrible, but I’ve come to accept it. When I think of my dad, I don’t see my biological father. I see Lee.”

“Is that…?” Louis trails off, not sure what to call him.

“My adoptive father—yeah,” Clem confirms.

Louis nods.

“Even though my situation isn’t ideal, I’m glad I met him,” she says, her gaze faraway. “I’m so lucky he chose me.” 

“Sounds like you really love him.”

Clem smiles gently. “I do.”

Louis thinks about his own parents—how much they love and care for him, how often he takes them for granted. It’s easy to assume they’ll always be there for him when that’s what he’s seen for the entire eighteen years of his life. But life is too unpredictable to relax in that familiarity—anything could happen at any given moment. 

He’s sure Clem didn’t go to bed one night thinking she’d never see her parents again. 

It hurts him to his core to think about Clem as a little girl, suddenly ripped away from all she knew and forced into an unknown system with strangers hovering around her. She must’ve felt unbelievably distressed. Louis doesn’t believe in fate, not really, but an element similar to it must’ve been at play when Lee came into her life.

Come to think of it, if Lee never adopted Clem, the play of events that led her to transfer to Ericson would’ve never happened. Louis would’ve never met her—wouldn’t even know she exists. 

That’s a scary thought.

Louis makes a mental note to give Lee a firm handshake when he meets him. Maybe a hug, too. Okay, no hug, that’s weird. 

“So, what about A.J?” Louis asks. “Is he—” 

Clem finishes his thought. “He’s adopted too, yeah.”

“Wow.” Louis sighs. What a bombshell. Louis extends an arm to hold Clem’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, heartfelt.

Clem tilts her head. “For what?”  

“For trusting me enough to tell me that.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” She glances at the table, bashful. “I wanted you to know.”

He’s grateful.

“I completely ruined the mood, huh?” He smiles at her. “Made it all serious and sad.”

Clem laughs. “Maybe a little.”

“Hm. That won’t do,” Louis says. “I gotta bring it back up.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

Their server appears out of thin air—a customary smile on her young face as she sets their food down in front of them. Once she hands Clementine her milkshake, she asks, “Is there anything else you guys need?”

Louis speaks up. “Actually, yeah.” He nods his head towards Clem. “It’s her birthday today. We’re out celebrating.”

“Oh?” The server turns to Clem. “Happy birthday!”

It’s so hard not to crack up at the baffled look Clem is giving him, but he remains under control for the sake of the joke. With the server’s back turned to him, he drops his smile and silently mouths, _“Play along”_ before resuming his previous expression.   

She fixes him with another puzzled look, more confused than the last, before smiling up at the server. “Thank you,” she says, eyes dropping to her plate of food in an instant.

The server walks away. They don’t drop the act until she’s out of earshot.

Clem spares one last glance down the aisle to make sure the server is gone before she rounds on him. “What are you doing? My birthday isn’t until October!” 

Louis is her contrasting image—calm, cool, and collected. “It’s fine—it’s fine. They don’t know that.” She’ll see what he’s trying to accomplish soon enough. He inclines his container of fries forward. “Want a fry?” he offers.

Clem sighs and takes a fry.

A couple of minutes go by. They eat, they talk, Clem shows him a funny picture of A.J, he nearly chokes on his drink—overall, the night is going smoothly.

And then the clapping starts.

Every patron of Mad Beef stares at the long line of servers heading straight for Louis and Clem’s booth.

“Attention, Mad Beef! We have a birthday in the house!” A male server announces, alerting the restaurant with his booming voice.

Five clapping servers circle their booth and burst into song, singing: _“Happy, happy birthday! We hope your wish comes true!”_

Clem shields half of her face with her hand as the servers sing to her, a sheepish smile curving her lips.

Louis, on the other hand, waves his fingers in the air like he’s conducting an orchestra. He’s heard Mad Beef’s birthday chant enough times to recite it in his sleep. However, he didn’t tell that server it was Clem’s birthday to embarrass her. 

As a matter of fact, he did it to embarrass somebody else.

Marlon steps forward and places a brownie in front of Clem. A single candle with a tiny flame is stuck in the middle of it. 

The shock on his face when he realizes who’s receiving the brownie is beautiful.

When he whips around and sees Louis grinning at him, his face is _perfect._

 _“Happy, happy birthday! Here’s a gift from us to you!”_  The servers finish their song and direct their attention to Marlon, who is standing there giving Louis the dirtiest glare he can muster. 

A random server nudges him and Marlon droops his head.

He has no choice—he has to do it!

Marlon sighs heavily, breathes in, then produces a lengthy, _“Moooooooo!”_

Louis slaps a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. Clem does the same thing across from him.   

_Absolutely worth it._

The servers applaud and encourage Clem to blow out her candle. They applaud again when she does so. Then they disperse, off to finish their duties and attend to the other guests. Marlon is about to walk away when Louis grabs his arm.

“Wait—it’s my birthday too!” Louis jokes, laughing when Marlon wrenches his hand off.

“I know where you live, asshole,” Marlon says under his breath, voice low enough so his manager doesn’t hear him.  

“Good. Come over and moo at me later. I love it.” 

Marlon flips him off and turns to walk away, but first he nods his head at Clem and mutters, “Hi, Clementine.”

“Hi, Marlon. Nice mooing.” Clem smirks at him. “Really thought you were a cow for a second there.”

Marlon rolls his eyes and stomps away as Louis gives Clem a high-five. 

 

\---

 

It’s almost ten when Louis and Clem return to her house.

There’s a car in her driveway this time, which means Lee and A.J are home.

They stay in his car because of this.

The engine purrs as the car idles in the dark driveway, the only sources of light being the glowing symbols on the dashboard and the car’s touchscreen stereo. 

At some point during their drive home, Clem’s hand tentatively wrapped around his hand—which was resting on the gear—and they haven’t let go yet. 

“Thank you for the food,” Clem says, her voice a little louder than the quiet song playing on the radio.   

“Of course.” Louis sits back in his seat, dropping his hand from the steering wheel. “I’d call that a pretty successful first date. Yeah?”

Clem smiles. “Would you call that our first?” 

“Are you counting the shopping trip?”

“We _could_.”

He purses his lips. “I mean— _yeah_ —but A.J was there,” he says. “Do you really wanna say our first date was with your little brother?”

Clem pauses. “Okay, we’ll say this is the first.” 

They share a laugh, but then the merry air settles down and is replaced with a nervous energy. Clem’s hand is still on top of his, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of his hand. He steals a glimpse at her, only for their stares to join. They look away quickly.

It’s rare for someone to make Louis nervous. He’s not a timid guy by any means. But there’s just  _something_ about Clementine that makes him feel breathless. His sentences jumble together and his words get stuck in his throat whenever she’s near. 

He wonders if she’s aware of the effect she has on him.

“Louis.”

His eyes snap to hers.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” She sets her jaw. “I was… My mind was in a weird place. I’m not the best at handling my emotions so I ignored them—and that was wrong of me to do to you.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s okay, Clem. I understand.”

“No, stop, you’re _allowed_ to be mad at me. You didn’t even do anything wrong.” 

“I can’t be mad at you for being confused.” He gives her a lopsided grin. “Honestly, I’m still reeling over the fact that you like me back.” 

The corners of her mouth lift. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Here,”—Louis raises his arm—“pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Okay, he did not expect Clem to pinch him _that_ hard.

 _“Ow!”_ he whines and rubs his aching arm. 

“You told me to pinch you!” Clem insists.

“Not that hard!”

“At least you know you’re not dreaming!”

“Sure, but now I’m bleeding!” 

Clem scoffs. “Don’t be a baby, I didn’t pinch you _that_ hard.”

Louis pouts and continues to rub his arm. He slowly comes to a stop when he notices the melancholic expression that shrouds her features. Just like that, the atmosphere becomes gloomy. 

“Hey. You okay?” He reaches for her hand again. “I was kidding—you didn’t pinch me that hard.” He’s lying. His arm still hurts. 

Clementine cradles his hand between both of her palms, setting it on her lap. “I meant it when I said I liked you. I do. And I want to try… _this_ , but—”

Louis’ heart plummets to his feet. 

“—But I have to be realistic. I don’t know the next time my dad’s job will transfer him. It could be a year from now, or it could be _next month._ I don’t know.” Her eyes are downcast, face obscured by her hat. “I’d hate for us to end unfinished.” 

He’s trying to mask his hurt—trying _so_ hard for Clem’s sake. His attempt at a smile is poor, his lips barely twitch up. The warmth from Clem’s hands is the only thing rooting him to the moment. “Yeah,” he croaks. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Yeah.” 

“So, let’s not rush into anything.” She inhales a shaky breath. “Let’s take this slow—enjoy the time we have with each other right now.” She gazes at him with a false display of calmness. “Okay?” 

Louis nods. “Sounds good. Let’s enjoy the moment.”   

“Exactly.”

They exchange sad smiles.

_Maybe this is for the best. I might not be here in a few months anyway. This way, no one has to get hurt._

“I should probably head in before my dad sees your car and gets suspicious,” Clem says, throwing a wary glance to her front door. She sits up straighter and clutches his hand a little tighter before letting go. “Thanks again for the food.”

“Anytime.” 

Clem goes to open the door, but she hesitates at the last second, her arm halting in the action. Louis watches her, brows knit in confusion, until she twists around and stretches over to kiss his cheek. There’s a gentle press against his cheek and then it’s gone—the kiss is over before he can comprehend what’s happening. By the time he remembers how to blink, Clem is out of the car and striding to her front door.

He hastens to roll down his window. “Hey!” he calls after her. “I thought you said we were taking things slow!”

She turns around. “It was on the cheek!”

“Where I come from, cheek kisses don’t happen ‘till the second date!” 

“Technically this _is_ our second!”

His mouth snaps shut. Yeah, alright, he’ll give her that.

She waves at him before heading up her porch. Only when the door closes behind her, does he drive away, his cheek still tingling from the kiss. 

 _I should’ve kissed her_ , he thinks wistfully. 

He pushes down the intense emotions fizzing in his chest and instead, imagines the story he’s going to tell his parents about his whereabouts when he gets home.

They’re going to kill him for missing dinner. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAGHHH CLOUIS!! BE STILL MY BEATING HEART!! 😭 i can't believe we're on chapter 8. four more chapters to go from here, folks. if you thought we got through the worst of it... well... you got a big storm coming. 
> 
> also, to clarify clem's backstory: she lost her parents when she was five. she was put into foster care from five to six. lee adopted her when she turned seven. 
> 
> as always, your comments and encouragement mean the world to me. i truly love you all 💕 thank you for being such active readers!!
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, clouis things, etc! (i'm so behind on my headcanons, but if you've asked any, don't fret! they WILL be answered) 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	9. losing myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter kicked my butt for some reason. i think it's because it was kinda like a filler chap, but i still needed to put important information in it. balancing that was hard. but, hey, it's done! enjoy!
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during you read or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 

 

_But something holds me back into another dark space_  
_and I wish just once I could talk myself out of this mess_  
_and just free up my head_

 

_"Losing Myself" - Sylo Nozra_

  

 

 

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Sailing through the air in a perfect arc—a single popcorn kernel lands in A.J’s mouth. A.J clamps his mouth shut and thrusts his fists in the air, triumphant. 

“Nice!” Clementine praises him from her spot on top of the counter. She sticks a hand into the popcorn bag on her lap and tosses some in her mouth.

“That’s four hundred points!” A.J declares, sticking four fingers up in the air.

“No, that was only a hundred points,” Clem corrects him.

“No, it was four hundred! I have a thousand points now.”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes I do!”

“You’re cheating!”

“No I’m not!”

“What in the world is going on?” Lee asks as he enters the kitchen. He gestures to the popcorn sprinkled across the linoleum floor. “Why does my kitchen floor look like it belongs in a movie theater?” 

“We’re playing a game!” A.J exclaims.

Lee moves around A.J to open the refrigerator. “Yeah? Is that game called _‘Sweep up the kitchen’_?”

A.J giggles. “No, that’s a silly name.”

Lee shuts the fridge with a water bottle in his hand. He moves over to Clem and taps her knee with the back of his hand. “Off the counter. You know better.” 

Clem hops down, landing a little unsteady on her feet. “I needed a good vantage point,” she explains to Lee. 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Right.” Reaching his hand into Clem’s popcorn bag, he grabs a handful and tilts his head towards the archway. “Meet me in the living room. Both of you. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Clem and A.J swap confused glances and follow Lee into the living room. 

Lee settles down in the brown armchair and points to the couch adjacent to him, directing them to take a seat.

A sense of foreboding causes the tips of her fingers to prickle, her nerves suddenly kicked into overdrive as she sits next to A.J on the couch.

_This is it,_ her mind warns. _His job transferred him again. We’re leaving._

It’s been two weeks since she confessed her feelings to Louis. Two weeks of keeping the guy she likes at a distance—too scared to get too close to him. She’s been telling herself it’s for the best—there’s no gain in starting something that will never get finished. Louis deserves a steady relationship, one built on solid ground, not the shaky foundation Clem has to offer him. 

And while this is all true, she _is_ looking out for the both of them—there’s a small, selfish part of her that is pushing him away to guard her own heart. There’s this tiny voice inside her head that tells her she doesn’t need anyone. It encourages her to block people out, reinforces her fear of being vulnerable, of giving her all to someone and not getting anything in return.

Or worse, getting _everything_ in return only to be pulled away from it.  

She couldn’t handle that heartbreak.

“I was called into a meeting yesterday,” Lee starts, sitting back in a comfortable position. “The firm I currently work at is starting a new project.”   

Clem squeezes her eyes shut, preparing herself for the inevitable _“We’re moving”_ announcement.

How much time does she have left? A few months? A couple of weeks? When does she have to say goodbye to Ruby, Omar, and Aasim? How soon does she have to numb herself so telling Louis doesn’t hurt as bad?

“It’s a big project—a two year long project, actually. They want my help with it, and, well—I agreed, so we're drafting up a long term contract.” 

Clem’s eyes snap open. _Wait._

“Are you saying…?” She can’t find the words to finish the sentence. Her heart is rattling like a bird stuck in a cage. Is this really happening?

Lee smiles and nods. “We’re going to be here for a while. Long enough that you’ll be able to graduate from Ericson, and A.J—you’ll possibly be able to finish elementary school here.”

A.J blinks at Clem, and then at Lee. “Was I not gonna finish elementary school before?”

Lee chuckles. “No, you were always going to finish.”

_I’ll be able to graduate from Ericson. We’re not going anywhere._ Clem covers her smile with a hand over her mouth. Giddy excitement fizzes in her chest like a sparkler on the fourth of July. Disappointment has become something like an old, unwanted friend—it’s always been there for her, even when she didn’t want it to be. She’s grown accustomed to feeling despondent, like she has no control over her life. But coming to Ericson has changed that part of her. She’s met real friends here, she’s made lasting memories here, she met _Louis_ here.

For a while, she thought the happiness she felt was temporary. It always is. 

Not anymore.

“Clem, I know graduation is just around the corner. At this point, most kids know where they want to go to college. Meanwhile, we never really sat down and discussed what you even want to _be.”_ Lee sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s completely my fault. I want to apologize for all these years of… instability. Moving from place to place, never giving you a chance to settle, basically keeping you in limbo.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I never wanted to hinder your growth like that.” 

Clem frowns. She appreciates the apology, more than she could probably express, but she doesn’t want Lee to feel guilty. Just like it wasn’t easy for her, it wasn’t easy for him, either. As a single father, Lee has been nothing but devoted to his children. However, to make a home, one has to make a living. “Don’t blame yourself, Lee. I’m okay. You were only trying to provide for us. Give us a good life.”

Something warm brushes against her arm. Clem glances down to find A.J resting his head on her shoulder. 

Lee smiles with downcast eyes. He shakes his head and refocuses his attention on Clementine. “I’m going to make it up to you. Anything you want to do. Anywhere you want to go. I’ll support you—I have your back.” Lee gets up and resituates himself on the couch, on the other side of Clem. “We’ll put in some last minute applications, I’ll see if I can pull some strings—we’ll make it work.” He puts an arm around her and captures A.J in the embrace as well.

“Could I stay here?” Clem asks, sandwiched between her father and little brother.   

Lee looks down at Clem with an incredulous expression. “I said you could go _anywhere_ in the _world_ , and you want to stay _here?”_

Clem nods. “I really like it here.” 

Lee hums softly. “Then we’ll look at schools in the area.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and says, “I have no idea what it is you love about this town, but I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“I think it’s because Louis lives here,” A.J pipes up. 

“A.J!” Clem twists around to glare at him. 

A.J’s eyes widen. “What? I heard you on the phone with him last night!” 

An intense flush creeps up her neck. They weren’t talking about anything inappropriate, but still! A little privacy would be nice! 

Lee leans back and crosses his arms. “Is that so?” 

Clem jolts up. “I’m gonna go sweep the kitchen.”

Lee pats A.J’s back. “Go help your sister.” When A.J stands up to follow Clem into the kitchen, Lee stops him with a hand on his arm and murmurs, “And let me know if this ‘Louis’ boy calls her again.”

A.J gives him a determined nod and puts his hands on his hips—his back straight and his shoulders squared. “Detective A.J is on the case!”

Lee salutes him. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Clementine groans, rolling her eyes. She reaches for the broom and begins to sweep the popcorn into a pile, while A.J holds the dust pan underneath her. The menial task has her mind wandering in seconds. Her thoughts land on Louis—as they’ve been doing these past couple of days—and a reflexive smile curls her lips.

She’s staying. There’s no ticking clock looming over their heads anymore. No time limit. No end date. They’re free to develop a relationship together. 

Bubbly glee surges throughout her body. 

She can’t wait to tell him.

 

\---

 

“You applied _here?_ To Central?” 

“Yeah, I did.”

Mrs. Kelly’s fifty gold bracelets clink together as she pushes abandoned chairs against the wall.  “No offense to the school that’s cutting me a nice check every two weeks, but _why?”_

Louis snorts. “Because it’s a good school? Where else am I supposed to go?”

The beaming afternoon sun pours in through the windows of Mrs. Kelly’s classroom. The windows face Central’s courtyard, giving the bright room a nice view of the campus—which is mainly empty due to the fact that it’s a Saturday. 

Louis has claimed a chair in the middle of the room, diagonal to the sole grand piano. 

“Where else are you supposed to go?” Mrs. Kelly parrots. “What happened to that ten-year-old boy who would run into my class every day, yelling about how he was going to Juilliard?”  

A short chuckle has him lifting his shoulders. Ten-year-old Louis was a nuisance, but he knew what he wanted, what he was working towards. Eight years later and he still wants the same thing. “He’s here,” Louis says, voice low.

Mrs. Kelly pushes the last chair against the wall and crosses her arms, her bracelets singing with the motion. “Is he? Because the boy in front of me _just said_ he applied to Central because there’s nowhere else to go.”

Louis inhales and exhales a slow breath, his fingers holding his attention. He wants to tell her he did it—he applied to Juilliard and they actually called him in for an audition—but the words are stuck in his throat. 

_Keep it to yourself. You have to be your own biggest fan. Everyone else will tear you down._

Just look at what happened when he told Mrs. Bailey.

_“I understand how much you want to get into Juilliard, Louis, but you need to be realistic.”_

Be realistic, Louis. No more childish fantasies, Louis. He’s tired of the pessimism. He’s having a hard enough time believing Juilliard will even _consider_ him, let alone accept him. He doesn’t need anyone else adding on to his pile of self-doubt.

He doesn’t know when Mrs. Kelly crossed the room to stand at his side, but in a blink of an eye she’s beside him with a hand on his shoulder. The sharp aroma of lemongrass and frankincense oil wafts by his nose. He finds himself comforted by the fact that after all this time, she still carries the same scents with her. It reminds him of fifth grade, of when he’d step into her class and have a blast. Mrs. Kelly music class was where he developed a true appreciation for _all_ kinds of instruments, not just piano. She never discouraged him—or any student—from banging on a drum, strumming a guitar, or shaking a tambourine. She’d cheer him on, always inspiring her students to play from their hearts. Music was how they expressed themselves in her class.

_“The world needs music,”_ she’d say, _“because it’s the only language we all understand.”_

Years have passed since then—Mrs. Kelly jumping from grade to grade before deciding to teach music theory at the local community college—but they’ve kept in contact ever since.

Would Mrs. Kelly discourage him from chasing his dream? No matter how impractical it seemed?

“Louis?” Her hand rubs his upper back. “Are you alright?”

“I did it,” he blurts out. “I applied to Juilliard. And they—they called me in for an audition, two weeks ago.”

Mrs. Kelly’s hazel eyes widen behind her red-framed glasses. Her face splits into a dazzling smile as she grabs both of his shoulders and shakes him. “Louis! _Louis!_ That is absolutely _amazing!_ You better not be telling one of your silly jokes or I will kick you right out that door—”

Louis laughs. Her excitement is contagious. “I’m telling the truth! I promise!”

“Oh my goodness!” She cups her cheek with her palm and draws in a deep breath. She sits down on the piano bench right next to his chair and takes a moment where she simply stares at him. “I’m so proud of you.” Unshed tears shimmer in her eyes. “Central is too small for a mind like yours. You’re destined for much bigger things.” She sniffs, gathering herself. “I have all the confidence in the world you’ll get in.”

“I don’t know…” Louis shrugs. “Juilliard only accepts the best.”

Mrs. Kelly furrows her brows. “And you’re one of the best,” she says, her delivery so matter-of-fact it leaves zero room for argument.

Louis soaks in the praise like a dehydrated sponge, allowing her words to empower him and give him that much needed boost to get him through one more week of waiting for an official decision. “Thank you, Mrs. Kelly.” 

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Thank _you,_ for sharing your music with me. With the world.” 

He dips his head to hide his tinted face. What a sweet woman.

“I’m so happy for you, Louis, but this aura I’m feeling from you…” She twists her hands in an uncertain gesture, like she’s crumpling invisible wads of paper. “It’s not pleasant.”

Louis lifts his head and sits up straighter. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Kelly turns around on the bench so she’s facing the piano. “I look at you, and this is what I hear…”  

Music fills the room in an instant. Mrs. Kelly’s fingers peck at the keys with purpose, then slow down into a melodic, dream-like tune. Louis silently identifies the minor chords she plays, the real emotion hidden in the intentional pauses and subtle nuances. But then, out of nowhere, the dissonant chords disturb the melancholic peace. Louis cringes at the harsh, clashing sounds. The musical tension has his ears yearning for some kind of resolution, but it never comes. Instead, the piece ends abruptly, the sensation similar to being on the other side of a slammed door. The silence that follows is deafening.      

Goosebumps travel up and down his arms. He’s left feeling so uncomfortable, all he can say is, “Yikes.”

“Yeah.” Mrs. Kelly folds her hands on her lap. “Your mood… your _spirit_ feels unsettled, uncertain, unresolved.” 

His nose wrinkles. Mrs. Kelly was always big on the whole “aura” thing. She believes every single person generates a distinct energy that can be felt by others. Even if someone doesn’t outrightly come out and say they’re upset, or happy, or whatever, their aura will express that emotion for them. 

When he was younger, he thought that belief was strange. 

But she might be onto something.

“Is there something that’s making you think twice about Juilliard?” she asks, her eyes glued to his face.

_Where do I start,_ Louis thinks. He massages the back of his neck. “I haven’t—uh—told anyone that I’m applying.”

“Why not?”

His mouth sets in a hard line. “No one understands what this means to me.” 

Mrs. Kelly lips tug down. “I remember what you told me about your father.” She smooths down the front of her skirt and says, “What about your friends? You haven’t told them either?”

“ _Pft._ No. No way.” 

“Louis…” Her tone is disapproving. “They’re your friends. If anyone will understand, it’ll be them.”

Just _talking_ about telling his friends about Juilliard has his heart racing. He waited too long to tell them. If he was going to say something, he should’ve said it months ago; no, _years_ ago when the prospect of going to Juilliard was a mere fantasy. That would’ve given them plenty of time to process the possibility of him leaving for New York. He screwed up by waiting this long, and he has no one to blame but himself.

“I messed up. I—I waited too long.” Louis shakes his head. “They’ll never forgive me for keeping this from them.”

“Put yourself in their shoes. How would you feel if, all of a sudden, one of them left, moved across the country, and didn’t tell you a thing?”

Louis smiles sadly. “I’d be hurt.”

Mrs. Kelly spreads her arms. “See where I’m going with this?”

“Yeah—yeah, I get it.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, either. Leaving behind the friends you’ve known for years is _never_ easy.” Mrs. Kelly places a gentle hand on his forearm. “But the longer you wait to tell them, the harder it gets. If they’re your friends, your _true_ friends, they’ll forgive you, and they’ll support you.” 

He blows out his cheeks in a long exhale. _Easier said than done._ “Alright. I’ll try.” 

“That’s all you can do.” 

Louis is about to speak when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and wakes the screen up to read the notification.

_[3:32pm Clementine] Hey can I call u?_

“Must be someone special if that smile is anything to go by,” Mrs. Kelly says, observing him.

He clears his throat and glances at Mrs. Kelly. “Sorry. I gotta take this.”

Mrs. Kelly nods and waves an arm towards the door. “Go ahead.”

He gets up, strides across the classroom, and slips out the door to stand in the hallway. With his free hand in his pocket, he selects Clementine’s name from his contact list and puts the phone against his ear, listening to the dial tone.

Clem picks up and says, “Louis?” 

He grins. “That’s me.” 

“Guess what?”

“Um…” He paces down the hallway. “A.J beat his high score on Monster Alliance.”

“What? No.” She scoffs. “Why would I call you about that?”

“I don’t know. Tell me or my guesses are gonna get worse.”

He can’t see her, but he knows she’s rolling her eyes right about… _now._

“Fine.” She huffs. “So, my dad just sat me down to tell me something.”

His smile falls immediately. He stops pacing. _Her dad is getting transferred._ He swallows the lump forming in his throat. “You’re leaving…” he says weakly. _It’s happening._

“No, actually, I’m staying.”

“Huh?”

“His job wants him to stay for a project,” she explains. “Which means we’re staying. _I’m_ staying.”

“Oh,” he says, nonchalant. _That’s cool._ Louis narrows his eyes. _Wait. She’s staying._ “Oh?” _She’s staying!_ “Oh!” He beams. “That’s great!” 

She laughs lightly. “Yeah!” 

“Wow!” 

“Where are you?” she asks. “Can I see you?”

He pulse skips at the thought of seeing Clem, as it always does. “I was visiting an old teacher, but I can wrap up early.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll stop by your house—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I’ll come to you. My dad’s here.”

Right. They’re still avoiding the parents. “Well, I’m on Central’s main campus if you wanna stop by. Lemme know when you’re close, I’ll send you my location.”

“Okay, I’ll leave now.”

“See you soon.”

They say their goodbyes and Louis hangs up feeling bittersweet. He forces it away, forces himself to don his usual jovial attitude, and opens the door to Mrs. Kelly room.

“Mrs. Kelly?” Louis calls.

Her head pops up from the other side of the piano. “Yes? Is everything okay?” She stands to her full height with a rag in her hand. She must’ve been wiping down the piano.

“Yeah—yeah, things are great.” He fiddles with his phone, still in his hand. “I have to go, though.” 

“Aw. Well, that’s alright.” Mrs. Kelly makes her way over to him. “It was great seeing you again.”

She goes in for a hug and Louis returns the gesture. 

“Same here.”

Patting his back, she tells him, “Keep in contact,” before letting go.

“I will.” 

She gives him a serious look. “Let me know how things turn out, yeah?”

He’s not sure if she’s talking about Juilliard or the situation with his friends, but either way, he gives her a thumbs up and says, “Will do.”

Stepping towards the door, his hand is reaching for the doorknob when Mrs. Kelly adds, “Clementine is a pretty name.” 

Louis turns his head and sees her standing there, tossing the rag between her hands, watching him with a knowing smile. 

He smirks and replies over his shoulder, “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” 

 

\---

 

Louis decides he’s going to arrange a picnic. 

It’s nice, and simple, and _maybe_ a little romantic. Just a little.

It works out perfectly—the weather is clear and cool, the campus is freshly mowed and mostly empty, _and_ he happens to have a blanket in his car. 

(His mother put it there for emergency purposes and he forgot about it until this exact moment, but hey, it works out.)

He executes his plan in three steps.

First step: acquire some food. 

Thankfully, the campus’ coffee shop, Café Central, is open on the weekends. 

He’s not surprised to find the cafe uninhabited when he walks in—save for the two girls sitting at a table in the back, tapping away on their laptops. There’s a glass display with all kinds of delicious baked treats lined up on three shelves. Louis swears the cookies are calling his name.

There’s no line, so he marches right up to the front and opens his mouth to order… nothing.

Because he has no idea what kind of cookies Clem likes. 

_He’s_ not picky, but Clem might be. Maybe she only likes certain types of cookies? He has no idea. 

Well, there’s only one way to solve this.

He buys two cookies of every kind. Chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, double chocolate, and sugar. She has five options to choose from.

The barista loads a brown paper bag with all of the cookies and hands it over to him, alongside a puzzled stare. Louis pays her, and then he’s on his way.

Second step: obtain his blanket.

The parking lot isn’t far from the cafe, so Louis breaks out into a light jog to reach his car faster. Once he’s there, he opens his trunk spots the rolled blanket, pushed off to the side. He grabs it and shuts his trunk. The moment he’s about to walk away, a great idea emerges. He unlocks his car once more and snatches his deck of cards.  

Third step: set everything up.

He finds a secluded tree with decent shade and claims that as his picnic spot. He spreads the blanket out, opens the bag of cookies and sets them in the middle, and places the cards next to them. Sitting with his back against the trunk of the tree, he texts Clem his location and then scrolls through his phone for a good song to put on.

Two songs later—and one less sugar cookie—Clem texts him that she’s here. 

_Okay. Take a deep breath. Relax._

Pushing the crumbs from his sugar cookie off the blanket, he quickly rearranges everything and then waits. He taps his fingers on his thigh, his eyes scanning the campus for a familiar face, but all he sees is a vacant green lawn.

“Louis?”

He shudders in fright and jerks his head in the direction of Clem’s voice.

She’s behind him.

“Holy shit.” His hand is over his pounding heart. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Clem apologizes, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. 

Louis gathers his composure and jumps to his feet. “Welcome to our little picnic.” He sweeps his arm in a grand motion, presenting the blanket. “There’s everything, from gourmet treats,”—he points to the cookies—“to in-house entertainment,”—he flourishes the deck of cards—“there’s even a live-band inside of my phone playing this song _right_ now.” 

“Wow.” Clem takes it all in from her position next to the tree. “You’ve outdone yourself.” She smiles at him. 

“Thank you, thank you.” He holds out his elbow. “Now, let me show you to your seat.” 

She holds onto his arm, and they take two steps forward before stopping.

“ _Annnd…_ we’re here!” Louis announces. 

Clem shakes her head and laughs. His hand is outstretched, so she clasps it with her own, and he helps her as she lowers herself on the blanket. 

Louis takes a seat beside her, and rests his arm on his knee. He moves the bag of cookies over to her. “Cookie?”

She peeks inside the bag. “What kind?”

“All of them. Every single kind.”

Her brows draw together. 

Louis lifts a shoulder. “I didn’t know which kind you like, so I bought all of them.”

“You could’ve texted me,” she says. “I like chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin.” 

He snaps his fingers. “Well, you're in luck, because I got those!" He mumbles under his breath, "...And a few others."

She snorts and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie. A content sigh blows past her lips when she takes a bite.

Louis gazes at her while shuffling his cards. A velvety acoustic song plays from his phone, the melodic lyrics faint. The music is paired with a soft breeze that rustles the leaves above them. There’s an idyllic peace to everything. Louis relishes in the comfort.

“Know any card games?” he asks.

“I only know how to play Go Fish,” she replies, finishing off her cookie.

“That’s it?”

“A.J taught me, so…” Clem voice dwindles as she looks away.

Her little brother taught _her_ how to play Go Fish. _How cute._ “Let’s see how well A.J taught you.” He holds up the cards in his hand. “Wanna play?”

“Sure.” Clem scoots closer. “Fair warning—I kinda suck.”

Louis starts dealing the cards. “You can’t be _that_ bad.”

Clementine glances at him and her eyes cast a look that says _‘You’ll see’_ before they start. Louis insists she goes first, and game jumps back and forth as cards are exchanged and “Go Fish”’s are said. Louis wins the first round, so he asks for another game. 

He wins that one too.

At this point, Clem is positively done with Go Fish, but Louis begs her for one more game. 

"Last one," he promises.

He plays terribly—and he still wins.

Clem sets her cards down with a huff. "And this is why I don't play card games."

"Wait, wait—one more round," Louis pleads. 

"So you can let me win?" Clem scoffs. "I don't think so."

Louis gapes. "I wasn't gonna let you win!" He was definitely going to let her win, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

"You were!" She leans in closer to him and narrows her eyes. "I can see it all over your face."

It takes every ounce of self-control Louis has to not lean forward and close the distance between them. Clem sits beside him with her legs crossed, their knees touching. He can count her bottom eyelashes, that’s how close she is to him. The subtle scent of strawberries is tempting. His mind strays and he catches himself thinking if her lips taste the same.

Whoa. _Relax_.  

Reeling himself in, Louis presents her with an easy smile and says, “I am a master of poker faces.”   

Clem studies him for a moment longer, before she sits back and goes, “ _Uh-huh._ ” 

“Okay, fine, maybe not a _master,_ but I’m decent. You gotta give me that.”

Stretching her arms above her head, Clem yawns and says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She lies back on the blanket and stares up at the sky, her hands resting on her stomach.

Louis lies down next to her with an arm pillowing his head. Another breeze dances across their skin. A curl from Clem’s ponytail comes loose and lands across her forehead. 

She stares at the sky.

He stares at her.

“I can’t believe I’m staying,” she says, eyes still trained on the expansive blue sky. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s real,” Louis confirms in a quiet voice.

Clementine turns her head to look at him. Her smile is fond. “I think more than anything, I’m happy I get to stay here with you.” She reaches for his free hand and laces their fingers together.

His heart comes alight with a fervent glow. The feeling completely overpowers his body, rushing from his head to his toes. Despite this, he’s only able to return her smile for a split-second. At once, the tender sentiment fizzles out and is replaced with a heavy boulder of dread. It lands right on his chest, trapping him under his guilt, shortening his breath.

_You need to tell her about Juilliard. About New York._

The last thing he wants to do is string Clem along. He _has_ to do this. 

He swallows hard, and opens his mouth to speak...

But nothing comes out.

The words _won’t_ come out. They’re wedged somewhere between his heart and his mind and he has no idea how to release them. 

_“_ _The longer you wait to tell them, the harder it gets.”_

While Mrs. Kelly’s words ring true, she doesn’t know how long he’s been keeping this secret from his friends. It’s been so long, the secret has become something else entirely—it’s become a habit.  

“Louis?” Clementine squeezes his hand. 

Louis focuses on her. “Hm?” 

“Are you happy?” she asks, her tone low and faltering. There’s an air of uncertainty around her. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah. I’m really excited. Can’t you tell?” His grin is strained and close-lipped. 

Clem lets go of his hand and repositions herself so she’s lying on her side, her chin propped on her hand. “No, I can’t.” Her golden eyes survey him coolly. “Kinda looked like you were zoning out.” 

He resists the urge to shrink at her scrutinizing glare. _Deflect. Deflect!_ “Nah. I was just thinking about how much I like you.” His spirit is revitalized by the soft smile Clem gives him. “And how _heartbroken_ I would’ve been if you left.” 

“Yeah?” Clem plays with the collar of his shirt. “You would’ve been _heartbroken?”_

“Yep. Heartbroken.” He pouts, pretending to be sulky. “I probably would’ve hid in your suitcase.”

“That’s creepy.”

“It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“ _Mmm,_ yeah, no.”

“You could take me anywhere!” He flaps an arm in the air. “How is that _not_ romantic?”

“Hey.” 

“Yeah?”

She kisses his cheek. “Stop talking.”

He nods once. “Gotcha.” No need to tell him twice.

Clem tilts her head towards his, slowly closing the gap between them. Louis’ eyes flit to her lips, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. Her eyes flicker closed as he leans in too, meeting her halfway. 

They’re centimeters apart when his phone buzzes. 

Clem pulls back and asks, “What was that?” 

His shoulders sag, all of the pent up anticipation in his body escaping him in one fell swoop. “My phone.” 

“Answer it,” she tells him. “It could be important.”

_I doubt it,_ he says in his head. Still, following Clem’s advice, he sits up and begrudgingly answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Yo! Louis!”

_Marlon. Of fucking course._

“Guess what?” Marlon asks.

“You called the wrong number and I can hang up,” Louis deadpans. Clementine swipes at his arm and gives him a bewildered look. He silently mouths, _“Marlon”,_ which immediately erases the concerned expression off her face. 

“Nope. Guess again,” Marlon says.

“Dude, just tell me.”

“Minnie can’t make another practice,” Marlon reveals. “She just texted the group chat.”

Louis groans and drags a hand down his face. “This is the _second_ week.”

“I know. We gotta talk about this. I’m gonna ask everyone to meet at my place in a bit. Are you doing anything?”

“Uh.” He glimpses at Clementine, who is chewing on an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Yeah. I’m with—”

_“Clementine?!”_ Marlon exclaims.

He closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yeah.”

“Put me on speaker,” Marlon says.

Louis grimaces. “No.”

“C’mon. Real quick.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and presses the button for speaker. “Okay, Marlon, you’re on speaker.”

“Hi, Clementine.” Marlon’s voice is tinny through the phone.

Clem’s eyebrows rise. “Hi?” She looks at Louis and all Louis can do is shrug.

“Sorry about this, but we gotta steal Lou. He’s needed for important band business,” Marlon explains, “but we’ll return him ASAP, and then you guys can go back to doing whatever it is you’re doing. Nothing crazy, I hope! I’m not ready to be an uncle yet—”

Louis taps the red circle to end the call.

_Not today, Marlon!_  

It’s quiet until Clem wipes her hands on her jeans and says, “I’m guessing you have to go.”

He slides his phone into his pocket and nods. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who asked you to hang out outta nowhere, remember?” She stands up and Louis follows suit. “I know you have other things to do.”  

Crossing his arms, he says, “I’d rather be with you, if I’m being honest.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Another time. Go help your friends.”

He’s not completely satisfied with leaving like this, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have much of a choice. His band needs him. So together they fold up the blanket, grab the cookies, and walk to Clementine’s car. He tells her to take the cookies home, share them with A.J and Lee. She thanks him and hugs him, standing on her tippy-toes to kiss him on the cheek. He grins at her and watches her drive off, waving his goodbye, before trekking across campus to get to _his_ car. 

 

\---

 

Marlon’s driveway is empty when Louis drives up to his house. It doesn’t surprise him that he’s the first one here. Marlon is coming from work, and Mitch has to pick up Violet. 

Taking advantage of the rare moment to himself, he rolls down his window and reclines his seat into a more comfortable position. He stares at Marlon’s house, dark and unoccupied, and absently wonders where his mother is. He could go for some of her pierogis right now. 

Bored out of his mind, he scans the interior of his car for something, _anything,_ to pass the time until everyone shows up. His passenger seat is empty. There’s nothing in his backseat, aside from empty water bottles. He reaches over to open his glove box, and a pamphlet flies out. Catching it before it hits the floor of his car, he brings it closer to his face to read the words: _“Welcome to Juilliard.”_

Ah. He was given this pamphlet during his audition.   

There’s nothing else to do, so he sits there and peruses the information. It’s a welcome distraction. A particular scenic picture of the campus is holding his attention when Marlon is suddenly outside his car, sticking his arm through the window. 

“Whatcha reading?” 

His eyes snap to his best friend, his brain one step behind. “What? _Hey_ _—_ _!”_

Marlon snatches the pamphlet out of his hands.

Louis attempts to grab it back, but Marlon moves out of his reach. “Dude, c’mon.” 

Marlon doesn’t answer him. His eyes skim the words, and his amused face transforms into one of suspicion. “What is this?” He looks at Louis and flaps the brochure. “This school is in New York.”

_Shit._ “It’s nothing,” Louis says with a forced smile. “Really.” _Shit._

“Then why do you have it?”

He gulps. “I just do.”

Like an unexpected crack of thunder, Marlon snaps. “Stop bullshitting me, man! You’re a _shit_ liar!” he yells, his voice carrying on the still air. 

Rosie starts barking from inside Marlon’s house, the sound muffled but unmistakably her. 

Louis emits a short, mirthless laugh. So this is how Marlon finds out. His bubble of secrecy has been popped, and he gave Marlon the pin.

Marlon’s shoulders are rigid as his eyes run over the pamphlet once again. “Is this the school you’re going to?” 

He shrugs feebly. “If I get accepted.” 

The pamphlet hits him in his chest when it’s hurled through his open window. Marlon’s face contorts in anger as he takes a step back. He’s furious—it’s written in the line between his brows and the twitching muscle in his jaw. This situation is a lot more delicate now. Marlon’s temper is no joke, and if he doesn’t want this exchange to go south, he needs to defuse it. _Now._

Louis scrambles for the door handle. “Marlon—listen to me.” He exits his car and stands before him, his hand held up in a calming gesture.

“When the _fuck_ were you gonna let me know?!” he shouts. 

“Soon,” Louis chokes out.

_“Soon?”_  Marlon’s steely blue eyes bore into him. “We graduate in _three months._ Were you gonna wait until your bags were packed?” 

“I was gonna tell you, man, I _swear_ ,” Louis says. “Just listen to me—”

“We were supposed to go to Central together.” Marlon walks back and forth, paying little attention to Louis. “We agreed to that _years_ ago.” He grits his teeth. “How long have you been lying to me?”

Louis seizes his shoulder, forcing him to stand still. “I haven’t been lying to you.” _Yes, you have._ “I haven’t. I was—”

Marlon is rough when he shoves Louis’ arm away. “I said stop bullshitting me!” he snarls.

“I’m _not!”_ Louis yells, matching his volume. “I applied to Central! I did!” 

“So then what the fuck is Juilliard?” Marlon hisses. _“Huh?”_

Louis shakes his head helplessly, unable to get his words out. 

Marlon regards him with a cold look. “I can’t believe you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers.

“No—no. Don’t apologize to me _now.”_ Marlon steps into his personal space. “We’ve known each other since we were eight.” He jabs a finger in Louis’ face. _“Eight._ Where’s that trust? What happened to it?”

Louis clenches his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Marlon is right. There was a lack of trust—between him and his friends, and a lack of confidence within himself. He was trying to avoid the conflict that would’ve followed if he spoke about his plans to attend Juilliard. The entire venture was wishful thinking, anyway. Submit an application for the hell of it. See what they say. If they don’t accept him, no harm done. 

He hates to admit it, but he never expected to get this far. 

Being considered, let alone being _auditioned_ , was out of the question.  

And then it happened. 

Avoiding conflict? He’s been doing the opposite—he’s been fostering it, adding fuel to the fire until it’s grown strong enough to burn him. 

Marlon backs away, his confrontational approach thawing at Louis’ unresponsiveness. “I’m not even mad that you’d rather go to some prestigious art school.” He lifts his shoulders and says, “Good for you, man.” His tone isn’t condescending, or patronizing; it’s sincere.

And _that’s_ when his heart breaks.

“I’m mad you knew you were going to do this for _who_ knows how long, and haven’t said a _word_ to me. You could be leaving in the next few months, and I’m just _now_ finding out.” 

Louis wants to say he’s sorry again, but he knows that’ll only rile Marlon up, so he chooses to stay silent.

Marlon lets his gaze fall and purses his lips together, engrossed in his thoughts. He folds his arms, contemplative, and asks, “Does Violet know?” 

“No.”

“Minnie? Mitch? Sophie?”

“No.”

_“Clementine?”_

Each name smarts until he’s left aching with shame. “No. No one. I haven’t even told my parents.” His eyes are downcast. “Just Mrs. Bailey and, um, my old music teacher.”

“I don’t understand.” Marlon’s face is screwed up in confusion. “Why are you keeping this a secret?” 

Mrs. Kelly asked him the same thing. He told her no one understands. She told him if anyone would understand, it’s his friends. She’s right. And deep down in his soul, he already knew that.

“I was scared.” The truth tastes strange on his tongue, but he keeps going. “I didn’t know how you’d react—how’d everyone react. You know my dad, man, he’s _so_ against me being a musician. He does nothing but tell me I’ll get nowhere—or, I’ll amount to nothing if I pursue it as a career.” He wets his lips. “I guess… I was tired of having people against me.”

Marlon pauses. A bird soars above their heads, cawing in the sky. “As much as I hate the idea of not having you around, I’d _never_ stop you from going after something like this,” he says. “This is bigger than our friendship. This is your _life,_ dude. I won’t get in the way of that. None of us would.”   

Remorse rapidly wells up in Louis’ chest, and his eyes burn with tears. He sniffs to keep the tears at bay. “Yeah.” He turns his head away and nods. “I know.”

Marlon snorts. “Don’t get all emotional on me.” He moves next to Louis and knocks their shoulders together. “We’re okay.”

“I should’ve told you sooner.” Louis sniffs again and clears his clogged throat. “Sorry for being a shitty friend.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to it.”

“Shut the hell up.” Louis gives Marlon a lighthearted push, and his best friend laughs it off.

Without warning, Mitch’s car pulls into the driveway.

Louis freezes and clutches onto Marlon’s arm. “You can’t tell them.”

Marlon whirls around to look at him. “Why not?”

“It’s not the right time. I want to sit everyone down, _together_ , and tell them.” His heart can’t handle these staggered reactions. He rather say it once, and deal with the brunt of the responses at the same time. One and done.

Marlon opens his mouth to reply, but he shuts it when the car doors open, and Mitch and Violet step out.

“Remind me to never ride with Mitch again,” Violet says as she saunters up to them. “We almost crashed _three times_.” 

“You can walk next time, then,” Mitch retorts with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Gladly. At least I’ll make it here _alive_.” Violet crosses her arms when she stops in front of Marlon and Louis. Squinting her eyes, she takes in the two boys before her. “You guys look… weird. Did something happen?”

Mitch stops behind Violet and sizes them up.

Marlon and Louis glance at each other, communicate with a single look, then shake their heads at the same time.

“Nah.”

“We’re good.”

“Louis was just getting on my case about how I ruined his date with Clementine.” Marlon smirks at him.

“Well, you _did.”_

Violet rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay. I don’t care. Let’s talk about the reason why we’re all here.”

“Yeah, what the hell is up with Minnie?” Mitch asks. “She’s being flaky as fuck.”

“There has to be something she’s not telling us. She never used to miss practice, and now she’s ditching us two weeks in a row.” Louis shifts from one foot to the other. “Vi, has she said anything to you?”

The boys stare at Violet. 

Violet fidgets. “Why are you putting this on _me?”_

“We know you both talk shit about us in private,” Marlon quips.

Violet’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’m glad you’re aware.”  

“ _Besides_ that,” Louis says to steer the conversation back on track, “has she mentioned anything to you? Family problems, school problems, life problems? She seems fine when we see her at lunch, but you never know.”

“Nope. She hasn’t said anything out of the ordinary.” 

“Maybe she’s on drugs,” Mitch suggests.

Everyone gawks at him.

“What? All the clues point to it!” he insists. “She acts fine when she’s in school—obviously, you can’t be drugged up in class. But after school? She’s out of it. That’s why she won’t meet up with us.”

Louis knits his brows. “Did you smoke before you came here?”

“No!”

“I say, we ask Sophie to chill in their garage next Saturday, and _wait_ for Minnie to come home,” Marlon proposes. “That way, even if she cancels on us again, she still has to face us.”

“I’m cool with that,” says Mitch.

“Are we really about to stage an intervention?” Violet asks.

“Do _you_ have a better idea?”

“Yeah! Give her some space!”

Louis runs a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Marlon.”

“Ha!” Marlon pumps a fist in the air.

“Hey, Lou, I know you share one braincell with Marlon, but take a minute to think about this.” Violet’s remark is met with a frown from Louis. “What good is cornering her gonna do?”  

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Louis utters. “But if she won’t come to us, we have to go to her.”

“I’m super against this, but,” Violet sighs, “it’s three against one, so.” 

Marlon and Mitch nod at each other while Violet wilts. 

Louis claps his hands together. “Alright. Next Saturday it is.” 

He pays no attention to the unease niggling at the back of his mind.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got you with that almost kiss, huh? haha :) i also got myself :') 
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed how happy and peaceful instant crush was. get ready for the mood to shift a bit from this point on. gosh, i cannot WAIT to show y'all chapter ten! THERE'S A BIG STORM COMIN', AND THAT'S ALL I'M GONNA SAY!
> 
> thank you for sticking with me this long! whenever i feel down, i go back and read your comments and i'm filled with so much happiness 😭 i love you all 💕 your comments mean so much to me!
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, etc! (i'm so behind on my headcanons, but if you've asked any, don't fret! they WILL be answered) 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


	10. something, in general

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _phheeeeewwww_. it's finally here. please, grab some popcorn, buckle up, and enjoy the ride! (small tw: there's some minor blood in this chapter)
> 
> each chapter title is going to be a song title that goes with the chapter. you can listen to it during you read or (i recommend) after you read to really let the feelings ~simmer~

 

 

_Can someone tell me why I'm still in the same place I've been  
I don't get as much out as I think I put in _

 

_"Something, in General" - Ritt Momney_

 

 

“Make the C chord a little less major.”

“Like this?” 

“Yeah—yeah, that’s good.” Louis looks at Mitch, perched behind his drum set. “Give me a beat, Mitch.” 

Mitch raises a drumstick in acknowledgment, and waits a few seconds before creating a steady drumbeat.

He can hear the melody already, his mind moving a hundred miles per hour. He bobs his head to the rhythm and points at Violet. “Give me the funkiest bass riff you can think of—right…” He pauses. “Here.”

There’s no hesitation—Violet jumps right in, plucking her bass strings with relaxed prowess. 

Louis taps his foot, getting a feel for the beat. With his own guitar slung across his shoulders, he starts strumming along, improvising licks and playing off of Marlon and Violet. The song writes itself—Minnie’s voice filling his head with potential lyrics. 

It feels good to have a jam session with his band again. Minnie’s absences made it difficult for them to meet up, seeing as all their instruments are stored in her garage. And while they’re all good friends, it’d be weird to be in her house without her being with them. Besides, she’s the lead singer of the band, she _needs_ to be present when they’re practicing their old songs or writing new ones. How is he supposed to gauge what sounds good when there’s no one singing along?

The music fades to the background as his mind begins to wander. What’s wrong with Minnie? It’s _so_ unlike her to miss practice. She’s been dedicated to Troubled Youth since the beginning—offering her home as a practice spot, giving input on the musical direction they should take, spreading the word about their performances to willing ears. 

Louis may be deemed as the pilot of Troubled Youth, but he’d give Minnie the co-pilot title, easily.

He’s reminded of a late night conversation they had during the summer of freshman year, when they all sat around each other on her front lawn. 

 _“Singing is an outlet for me,”_ she said, her voice barely above the chirping cicadas. _“It lets me express what I’m too afraid to say.”_ Her smile was sad. _“I’m glad we’re doing this. I think it’ll be good for me_ — _for all of us. We’ll be heard, whether people like it or not… we’ll be heard.”_

What could’ve happened? His head is a swirling cesspool of worst-case scenarios. Maybe there’s something really serious happening that she’s not telling them—an illness, possibly? Or maybe it’s school related. What if she’s feeling embarrassed because she won’t be able to graduate this year with the rest of them? She _could_ be failing a class, who knows. Maybe her family is moving. Maybe her parents are getting divorced. Maybe Mitch was right and she’s addicted to drugs.

He really shouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts.

The side door opens—the hinges creaking in protest—and Sophie steps down into the garage. Everyone stops playing at once, their attention on her. 

“Minnie just texted me,” Sophie says. “She’s on her way home.” 

A nervous energy sparks through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This is it. They agreed to keep this plan under wraps, so they haven’t spoken to Minnie about it this past week. To top it off, she was absent from school yesterday, so she _really_ has no idea what’s about to happen.

It shouldn’t scare Louis like this. Minnie is his friend. She’s been his friend since the fifth grade. He shouldn’t get anxious at the idea of _talking_ to her. 

But for some reason, he is.

And it appears he isn’t the only one. He notices the way Violet immediately starts chewing on her nails, the way Marlon fidgets in his seat, the way Mitch twirls his drumsticks in an attempt to do something with his hands. 

They’re all nervous. 

Sophie must sense the apprehension in the room, because she says, “It’ll be okay, guys.” 

She doesn’t get much of a response—a nod and a hum is all she receives.

Sophie presses her lips together and steps behind Louis. Bending down with a hand on his shoulder, she whispers into his ear, “Can I talk to you real quick? In the house?”

His heart drops. _She knows something about Minnie._ He removes his guitar from around him and stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he announces. 

He follows Sophie into the kitchen through the side door. She shuts the door behind her once he’s inside. “Feel free to grab something to drink.” She moves around the kitchen island and puts an abandoned container of food in the fridge. 

Louis watches her with a faraway gaze, half of his mind scripting out what he’ll say to Minnie. “I’m good.”   

“You sure?” she asks, holding the fridge door open with her body. “Not even water?”

“I’m sure.” 

“Okay.” She closes the refrigerator and latches onto his arm. “C’mon.” 

The living room is connected to the kitchen, so they don’t have to move far to reach the couch. Sophie sits down on the grey couch situated against the farthest wall, and pats the spot next to her. Louis takes a seat next to her, his movements mechanical and reflexive. 

Sophie sits with her knees bent and her feet on the couch. She looks comfortable in her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and it swings when she turns her head to look at him. 

She’s simply staring at him, not saying a word. The silence impels Louis to speak. “Where’s Tenn?”   

“My parents are picking him up from his friend’s birthday party,” she explains.

“Ah.”

It’s quiet again.

“Remember when we tried to make s’mores in the oven and almost set the kitchen on fire?”

The corners of his mouth lift. Young and untaught, they put the s’mores directly on the oven rack, causing the melted marshmallow to drip to the bottom of the oven and burn, almost catching on fire. Thankfully, they didn’t have to handle any flames, just a lot of smoke. “They were surprisingly still good.”

“I can’t believe you ate them.”

“I can’t believe _you_ were gonna waste perfectly good s’mores because they were a little burnt!”

“ _A little burnt?_ ” she repeats, astounded. “Louis, they looked like _rocks!”_  

“You know what I’m hearing?”

“What?”

“Excuses.”

Sophie laughs, the sound bouncy and cheerful. It calms him a bit. She wouldn’t be this happy if she had something bad to share with him, right? 

“Oh—oh!” She lightly slaps his arm. “Remember when I was _obsessed_ with Dirty Dancing? Every time you came over I asked you to be the Johnny to my Baby.” 

Louis nods. “I remember that. I _also_ remember how painful it was every time you stepped on my feet.”

“I’m a sucky dancer, okay?” She crosses her arms. “They made it look so easy.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the bruises have healed.”

Louis bursts out laughing at the face Sophie pulls.

“ _Tch,_ you’re so mean,” she sulks, but there’s no real heat behind her words.

“Sorry, Soph,” Louis says, wiping at his eyes. He definitely needed that laugh. “You know I’d let you step on my feet however many times if it makes you happy.”

“I know.” Sophie smiles at him. “I miss those moments. Things felt so simple back then.”

“Are things not simple now?”

Sophie heaves a sigh. “Not at all.” She glances up to the ceiling, then looks down at her fingers, tugging at the bottom of her t-shirt. “I don’t know if you remember, but you left this shirt here last summer, after the beach trip.” 

His brows draw together as he carefully studies the shirt. The left pocket, the rolled sleeves, the navy blue pinstripes—yeah, that’s his shirt. Huh. 

“I was gonna give it back, but then I was doing laundry one night and I put it on, and—and, it was _so_ comfortable. It fit _perfectly_. It felt like…” She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “It felt like I was wearing my boyfriend’s shirt.”

Louis stills. 

_“You know Sophie likes you right?”_

_“She has a crush on you.”_

Oh, God. _Shit._ This is the worst timing possible.

Sophie shifts her body so she’s facing him. Her hands search for his, finding them on his lap and clasping them in her own. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about you,” Sophie says softly.

Multiple warnings pop up in his brain like an error message on a computer. His spine is stiff and his hands are cold and clammy. _This isn’t gonna work. You need to tell her that. Now._ “Sophie—”

“No, Louis,”—Sophie holds her palm up, gesturing for him to stop talking—“let me finish. I need to say this.”

Louis’ mouth snaps shut, his lips squeezing together in a taut line. He never took notice of how close Sophie is sitting to him, but now, with his senses dialed to an eleven, he’s hyper-aware of everything—her knees settled over his lap, her shoulder touching his, her body heat mingling with his. He’s never felt uncomfortable with Sophie until _this_ moment, where the true motive behind her “friendly” actions are revealing themselves to not be as friendly as he thought. 

“The way I feel about you… I’ve never felt this way about another person before.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “But I know these feelings are real, because I’ve felt them for _years,_ and every time I see you they grow stronger.” Her grip on his hands is tight. “Being your friend is amazing, and I love it, but I feel like I’m making myself sick keeping the way I feel about you to myself. Graduation is right around the corner, and I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t do this.”

A dull ache pounds somewhere near the base of his skull. He’s clenching his teeth so hard he’s sure he’s going to grind them into dust. 

Sophie places a soft hand on his cheek and quietly says, “I—I love you, Louis. I love you, and I want to be with you.”

He’s encased in ice. Frozen to the bone. Sophie is staring at him with piercing eyes, cobalt orbs flitting over his face for a sign, a reaction, _anything._  

If only he could move.

She _loves_ him? When the hell did that happen? Louis knows he’s not the most astute guy ever, but he can’t be _that_ blind. He’s known Sophie for years. Surely, if she’s in love with him, he would’ve felt it. He would’ve known because she’s his _friend_ and he _knows_ her. 

Right?

“Louis.” Her fingers drift down to his jaw. “Say something.” 

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He should’ve took her up on her offer for that drink because his throat is extremely dry. “I, um, I—I don’t know what to say,” he manages to rasp.

“Say you want to be with me too,” she pleads, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Say you love me back.”

He looks off to the side, too scared at what he might see if he grants her the eye contact she yearns for. “I love you, Sophie, but…” His words taper off into silence. The answer is in the lull that follows.

Sophie drops her hand. “But… you’re not _in_ love with me.” 

Louis nods mutely.

A sharp inhale. A slow exhale. Straightening her legs so her feet are touching the floor, she sets her palms on her knees. “Why not?” she questions coolly.

 _What? What kind of question is that?_ Louis turns his head to look at her and finds that she’s glaring off at a point in front of her, her expression grim. “How am I supposed to—”

His response is cut short when Sophie interjects with, “It’s because of Clementine, isn’t it?”

A line appears between his brows. “What are you talking about?”

Sophie rolls her eyes with a humorless smile. “I see the way you look at her,” she says with a tart tone. She grimaces before she regards him with a frown, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve _never_ looked at me that way.”

Louis holds her stare until Sophie breaks it by covering her face with her hands. There’s nothing for him to do as Sophie sniffles and wipes under her eyes, the mood of the room at an all time low.    

He has no idea what he should say. _“Yeah, you’re right. I like Clementine.” “I can’t see us being anything other than friends.” “You’ll find someone else. I’m not much of a catch, anyway.”_

Those are all terrible options. He’d do nothing but break her heart even more. 

So he chooses to sit still, unspeaking, while Sophie cries next to him.

Never in his life has he felt more like the world’s biggest jackass than in this moment.

Sophie sniffs once more, catching a stray tear with the back of her hand. “What does she have that I don’t?” she asks. “What is it?”  

“Sophie—”

“Is she prettier than me? Is that it? Did something happen between you two that night on the balcony?” She stands up in a quick, jarring movement. “You had to have done _something_ with her, because I can’t think of any other reason why _she_ gets to have you and I _don’t!”_ Her voice is tremulous as she throws her arms in the air. “She’s not better than me! _She’s not!”_

Her words unlock a floodgate in his body. An intense outpouring of protectiveness has Louis pushing himself off the couch. “The way I feel about you has nothing to do with Clementine. _Nothing,”_ he states, his brows furrowed. “This is about us—not her.”

“No, it _is_ about her, because we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if she never moved here!” Sophie exclaims. “She ruined everything! She took you away from me!”

Realization hits him like a brick. He crosses his arms over his chest and examines her. “Is that why you lied to her about our gig at The Tunnel? Because you felt like she was taking me away from you?”

Watching Sophie’s expression fall fills him with a weird mixture of anger and pity. “I—I didn’t… I…” she stammers. 

Louis shakes his head. “There’s no point in lying. Clem told me what you did.”   

Sophie fixes him with a pleading look. “Louis...” she starts, extending her hand to place it on his upper arm.

He takes a step back so her hand catches nothing but air. “I don’t belong to you,” he says tersely, his voice low. “You don’t get to decide who’s allowed in my life.”

“I know—I’m sorry! I really am! I wasn’t trying to hurt you—” 

“No, you were only trying to hurt _her._ Right?”

Sophie doesn’t respond. She merely lowers her head like a child being scolded. The action opens his eyes to this immature side of Sophie he never knew existed. It leaves him wondering what else she’s told Clementine to deceive her, to drive her away. But more than that, it leaves him upset to know that he was in the literal _middle_ of it and was clueless to what was going on. 

“I like Clementine,” he says after a moment's reflection. “And… And she likes me.”

Sophie looks up at him with wet eyes. 

“She’s an incredible girl, and every day I’m grateful that you introduced us to each other.”

Her breath hitches and her face contorts in sorrow.

It feels like he’s twisting the dagger in her wound, but in actuality, he’s only speaking his truth. He needs to set clear boundaries so Sophie will never be able to say she misunderstood him.

“I’m sorry if you took our friendship as something else. I never meant to lead you on.” He inhales a long breath. “But you have to understand, Soph—I was only ever a friend. That’s _it._ And I’d like it if we were able to stay friends, but that won’t be possible if you keep on treating Clem like she’s the enemy.” He lifts his chin a little higher. “None of this her fault.” 

Her expression hardens. “So you’d just leave me in the dust for your new girlfriend?” she asks, her tone mocking and doubtful. “You’d drop four years of friendship just like that?” 

Louis’ shoulders rise and fall. “I could. But I’m giving you another chance. Take it if you want it.”

There’s a pregnant pause where Sophie chews on her lip and glances at everything in the living room but him. “I—” 

She’s cut off by the sound of multiple people shouting from another room. 

Sophie’s eyes widen. “What was that?” 

Louis slowly lowers his arms to his sides. “I don’t know,” he says, gaze trained in the direction of the garage. “It sounds like it’s coming from the garage.”

His feet are moving on their own accord. Sophie is behind him as he makes his way over to the door leading into the garage. He pulls it open, not knowing what to expect. 

The garage is wide open, granting an unobstructed view of the driveway and the parked cars on the blacktop. Minnie is standing on the line where the driveway and the concrete of the garage meet, arms crossed with her keys dangling from her finger. She’s returned from somewhere significant—if her bomber jacket, combat boots, and painted lips are anything to go by. 

Everything seems normal—everything except the hostile atmosphere. Marlon, Violet, and Mitch are all on their feet, facing Minnie with wound up stances.  

“Hey, Minnie,” Louis greets hesitantly, earning him four irritated looks. 

Minnie responds with a quiet, “Hi, Louis.”

“Tell him, Minnie,” Violet commands, jutting her chin in his direction. “Tell him what you just told us.”

Louis steps down into the garage. “Tell me what?”

Minnie huffs an annoyed breath. “I’m leaving Troubled Youth.”

He laughs. It’s a brief chuckle, the noise rumbling from his throat. He doesn’t know why his first reaction is to laugh—it just comes out of him, unrestrained. “What?” he asks, as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. 

Minnie cocks an eyebrow at him. “I don’t want to be in the band anymore,” she explains slowly, stressing each word like Louis doesn’t understand English.

Violet, Mitch, and Marlon are looking at him, presumably waiting for him to play mediator—to patch everything up and make everyone get along again. Because that’s what he does. He’s the glue that holds the pieces together. It was _his_ idea, after all. There’d be no Troubled Youth without him. 

Which means this must be his fault, too.   

“I don’t understand,” Louis says, a confused smile still glued to his face. Nothing is making sense. Not even his facial expressions. “Where’s this coming from? Did I do something wrong?” 

“No,” Minnie says curtly. “I’m just done. It’s time for me to move on.”

“To what?” Marlon questions. 

Minnie firmly plants her feet on the ground, her posture tall and proud. “I’m going solo.”

_“What?!”_

“Are you _serious?!”_

Louis is physically there, only standing a few feet away, but his mind is trapped in a muddled haze. The scene in front of him is the human equivalent of a car crash—a collision between egos and loyalties, resulting in shattered bonds and broken trust. His friends are yelling at each other, throwing accusing statements back and forth, and all Louis can do is watch from afar, numb to it all. 

“You’d sound like _shit_ without us! So good luck getting anybody to listen to you!” Mitch jeers, stabbing a finger toward her. 

“I don’t need luck!” Minnie hurls back. “I already have an agent! And guess what? Next month, he’s meeting with a label executive to talk about a _record deal.”_  

 _“Bullshit,”_ Marlon scoffs.    

“Don’t believe me? That’s fine—I don’t need you to! It’s happening either way!”

A thoughtful pinch appears between Violet’s brows. She’s weirdly calm when she asks, “Who’s your agent Minnie?” The question sounds more like a prompt than genuine curiosity. Violet’s narrow eyes suggest she already knows the answer.

Minnie hesitates for a fraction of a second. An indecipherable emotion fleets across her features, but then quickly vanishes and is replaced with an apathetic expression. “George Powell,” she announces tightly.

No one says anything. 

“... _Minnie,”_ Violet hisses. “What. The. Shit.” 

Out of nowhere, there’s laughter. 

It’s coming from him. Louis is laughing so hard his stomach hurts. His shoulders are shaking and he’s nearly doubled over—he has to put a hand on his knee to keep himself from collapsing on the floor. Short, puffy breaths escape from his throat as he gathers himself, his laughter ebbing away. 

He’s confused, he’s panicking, he’s crushed, he’s fuming—he’s _fifty_ other things that have no name, all mixed together in a disgusting cocktail of emotions. Feeling _so_ much at once is intoxicating; but it’s not a good kind of thrill. He no longer has control over his body. All of his emotions are fighting their way up to the surface, and they’re all winning, forcing him to become hysterical.

All eyes are on him as he stands upright with both hands pressed against his forehead. "You went behind our backs?" he asks, voice hoarse from the laughing fit. _"This_ is why you've been skipping practice?!" Another chuckle spills out. "We thought you were on _drugs!"_

Minnie scowls at the accusation **.** "I'm not on drugs."

Louis spreads his arms wide. "No, turns out you're just a liar!" He turns his head to address a stunned Sophie, a bystander to this whole ordeal. "You guys really are twins, huh?"

There's the anger. 

"I knew nothing about this!" Sophie insists, moving closer to him. "Louis, I swear to you—"

"How stupid do you think we are?” quips Marlon. “You really expect us to believe you didn't know? You live in the same damn house.”

"Hey, back off,” Minnie snaps. “She didn't know. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why not? Why would you keep this from us?” Violet asks, the silent _‘from me’_ is portrayed in her hurt gaze. Her voice is raspy when she says, “We’re supposed to be friends.”

Why does that sound so familiar?

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s dizzy.

Minnie withdraws into herself. “I… I knew you guys wouldn’t understand. You’d paint me as some sort of villain.” Her face darkens. “And I was right.”

“Well, look at the situation, Minnie! You talk and laugh with us at lunch like everything is fine and dandy, and then you skip out on practice without giving us _any_ clue as to why!” Marlon goes on, a fervent fire behind his words, “Here we are, thinking something was _seriously_ wrong with you. We were ready to get it out of you anyway we could — even if that meant being holed up in _your_ garage waiting hours for _you_ . We were willing to do that because we wanted to help you!” He takes a breath, his mouth set in a bitter frown. “And _this_ is what you tell us.”  

Mitch adds, “You stole the contact that was meant for all of us, us as a _band_ , used it for your own advantage, and you expect us to be like, ‘Oh, that’s cool, good luck!’” He lets out a harsh, derisive laugh with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fuck that!”

“I didn’t steal it, he gave it to me!” Minnie argues.

“He was interested in Troubled Youth!” Mitch states hotly. _“Us!”_

“He pointed _me_ out! _Me!_ He said _I’m_ the star!” Minnie taps her chest a couple of times for emphasis. “He opened my eyes—he made me see that I could be more than just a singer in a band. I don’t have to be afraid anymore.” She takes a moment to glimpse at everyone. “I can do it on my own.”

“Minnie,” Louis speaks up. Her eyes dart to him. “If you didn’t want to be in the band, you could’ve just told us,” he says with quiet empathy, although he feels oddly hypocritical. The irony isn’t lost on him. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Because by doing this, she not only disrupted their band, she’s damaged their friendship beyond repair.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s already done. Besides, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It’s time for me to move on. What is Troubled Youth without me? No one can sing like me,” Minnie declares with an air of haughtiness. “Not even you, Violet,” she says, accompanied by a scathing once-over.

Violet marches up to Minnie. “You arrogant piece of shit—don’t act like you made us what we are! You’d be _nowhere_ without Louis!” She points to him. “ _He_ got us together — _he_ wrote the songs that made you stand out. You didn’t do a _thing.”_

Gratitude adds itself to the never-ending list of emotions swelling in Louis. 

Minnie shrugs, flippant. “Sure, but without me, would anyone even listen to them? I’m the one that made our songs sound good.”

“Okay, you know what? Screw this. I’m done.” Marlon pushes the foldable chair he once stood behind out of the way. The metal legs screech harshly across floor in protest. “We’re a fucking mess!” He throws his arms out in a helpless gesture. “That’s why Louis is leaving! He’s better than all of this!”

“Huh?”

_“What?”_

Louis freezes. His wide eyes snap to Marlon, and the boy clamps his mouth shut, glancing at Louis with an apology in his stare. 

“What are you talking about?” Violet frowns at Marlon, then at Louis. “Where are you going?”

“Uh...” Louis falters.

“What’s Marlon talking about, Louis?” Sophie asks him, inching closer.

“Just tell us!”

“Tell us!” 

Louis flinches at each demand for the truth. This is not how he wanted his friends to find out about Juilliard, but then again, nothing seems to be working out tonight. 

Their glares glue him to the spot. There’s nowhere to go. His back is against a metaphorical wall on this one. No more secrets. No more lies. _Enough_. 

He deflates like a popped balloon—all of the air rushes out of him in a heavy sigh. “I applied for Juilliard—a school in New York,” he confesses, his eyes trained on the ground. “And if I get in, that’s where I’m going.”

 _“Oh,”_ Violet says. The monosyllabic response is like a sword through his heart. In all of Violet’s usual bluntness and curt replies, this one is colored with disappointment so poignant it breaks his heart. 

“You’re going to New York,” Sophie repeats. It’s a statement rather than a request for confirmation; like she’s saying it to herself to let it sink in. 

Minnie is quiet. She’s the one person he thought would be vocal about this, but she is anything but. She only looks at Louis with a stare that says everything. 

 _“And you’re mad at_ me _for keeping secrets.”_

Mitch, on the other hand, shakes his head in disbelief and rounds on Louis, approaching him with a purpose. “When were you gonna tell us this? You haven’t said a word!” Mitch is in his face now, righteous with his anger, his forehead wrinkled and brows furrowed. 

Louis takes a single step back, trying to put some space between them. “Mitch, I’m sorry—”

“No—I don’t want your shitty apologies!” Mitch closes the distance between them once again. “You’re no better than Minnie,” he spits through gritted teeth.

“Alright, alright—back off,” Marlon says, sticking out an arm to block Mitch from getting any closer to Louis. 

Marlon’s attempt to quell the situation only seems to make it worse. Mitch roughly pushes Marlon’s arm away from his chest. “Don’t fucking touch me, man!” 

“Then chill the fuck out!” Marlon shouts.

Now Mitch and Marlon are chest to chest, squaring off with fierce demeanors. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t? Huh?” 

“You’re both being stupid! Stop it!” Violet yells, but it’s to no avail. 

Marlon shoves Mitch away from him, causing him to stagger backwards. Mitch retaliates with a shove of his own, and for a few moments that’s all they’re doing—shoving each other back and forth.

“Mitch! Marlon! Stop!” Sophie reprimands. 

Louis is emotionally drained at this point. It seems like everything that could’ve went wrong, did go wrong, and some dark part of his soul truly believes that it’s his fault. He could’ve done something to prevent his friends from turning on each other like this. Maybe if he pushed a little harder, showed that he cared a little better, been more honest with them, spared more time—he would’ve done _anything_ to prevent this mess they’re in now. 

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve—there’s no point in crying over spilled milk. 

Which is why Louis forces all of his regret down and focuses on the present task at hand: stopping Mitch and Marlon from hurting each other. In a swift motion, he steps in between the two of them and uses his body as a physical barrier to try and break up the impending fight.

His timing is impeccable, because the second he moves in is the moment Mitch decides to swing. 

Mitch’s fist cleanly connects with Louis’ nose in a sickening sucker punch. The weight of the hit whips his head to the side and makes him stumble backwards, clumsily colliding with Marlon’s chest. 

“What the fuck!” He hears Violet shout. 

He hears Sophie’s startled scream.

But that’s all he can do—hear. He’s swimming in a dark abyss, his vision nothing but black and white dots. There’s a heavy pressure in his head, situated right behind his eyes. It feels like his brain has swelled and become too big for his skull, and is now trying to force its way out through his eye sockets. His face contorts in discomfort. He pinches his eyes shut and then opens them again, blinking a few times until the bright lights of the garage reappear in his blurry vision. His eyes are watering, but he’s not crying. No, he’s not even in pain—the adrenaline coursing through his body is making sure of that. 

Everything is off-kilter. There’s white noise in his head, the sound resembling television static. All of the emotions that were plaguing him earlier have vanished without a trace, leaving only one reaction behind in their wake.

Shock. 

Something wet trickles over his lips, and he wipes it away, thinking it’s a tear; but only when his fingers come back coated in red does he understand he’s bleeding. 

A stunned hush has enveloped the garage. Everyone is looking at him, wearing appalled expressions mixed with concerned ones. He’s still positioned in front of Marlon. The boy has his hands on each of Louis’ arms, righting him from his stumble. 

Louis wants to say something, but he finds himself paralyzed. Forming words, let alone a _sentence,_ becomes next to impossible with the way his leaden tongue refuses to cooperate—not to mention the throbbing behind his eyes doubling in intensity, and now his nose won’t stop fucking bleeding, the blood dribbling down his chin. 

To top it all off, he’s feeling light-headed. Great.

Mitch is the first one to break the silence. He slowly takes two steps back, like he doesn’t trust himself to not lash out again. His voice is weak when he says, “Fuck, Louis, I—” 

Minnie doesn’t grant him the opportunity to finish. “Get out!” she yells, pointing to the driveway. “Get out! All of you! Get the fuck out before I call the cops!”

Her warning starts something in Louis. The threat evokes a fight-or-flight response—fight to stay and make amends or follow her command and flee the scene. Any other day he’d fight to salvage things, fight to mend their relationship, but tonight the fight has been sapped out of him, leaving him as a husk of his former self. 

So he lets his body react instinctively. He turns on his heel and walks away from everyone without another word, rushing out of the garage and onto the driveway where his car is parked. 

He fumbles with the door handle and hurries into the driver’s seat. His hand is cupped over his nose to catch the blood that is _still_ leaking from his nose. 

 _Where do I go, where do I go, where do I go?_ his mind chants as the engine comes to life and his headlights illuminate the dark. 

Going home is _not_ an option—his parents would freak out seeing him like this. His best friends are a few feet ahead of him in the garage he just fled from, and honestly, the idea of spending another second with them nauseates him. 

It’s late, it’s _so_ late, and he doesn’t want to impose on anyone else but he has nowhere to go—    

Like the first dot of light at the end of an endless tunnel, a name appears in his head.

It’s an impulsive, reckless decision—he’s aware of that—but he’s already pulling out of the driveway before he has a chance to think of the risks.

 

\--

 

Clementine angles a plate under the running faucet of her kitchen sink, rotating the dish around and around to get the soap suds off of it. She’s softly humming a song to herself and putting the newly washed plate on the drying rack when the doorbell rings. 

She halts in her actions. The water continues to pour and she’s about to write off the doorbell as a misheard clanking of dishes until it rings again.

Twice this time.

She abruptly twists the handle to turn off the sink, bathing the house in silence. It’s way too late for a delivery guy to be ringing the doorbell. She knows she didn’t order anything, and if Lee ordered something he would’ve told her before he left—so who could it be? 

Panic begins to fester throughout her body as she wipes her wet hands on her pajama shorts and creeps over to the kitchen window. Very timidly, she pulls the curtains apart and peeks outside to check on her driveway. 

She recognizes Louis’ car immediately.

Panic is still festering, but this time for a completely different reason.

Rushing to the front door, she hastens to unlock it. 

All of the air is sucked out of her lungs when he’s revealed on the other side.

“Hi, Clem,” Louis croaks, standing under her porch lights, looking the roughest she’s ever seen him.

She doesn’t reply to him at first—she’s too busy scanning him from head to toe, taking note of the vivid red skin marking the lower bridge of his nose and the dried blood on his chin. One sleeve of his grey shirt is pushed up while the other is not. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, his usual infectious cheeriness replaced with a mien of devastation.

It’s clear something terrible happened to him—but what?

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes after Clem fails to return his greeting. “I know it’s super late, and, uh, you were probably doing something really important… I just—I’m…” His face twists in misery. “I’m sorry. I had nowhere else to go, and—and I just… I wanted to see you, but I’ll leave. I’ll go somewhere else—”

She reaches forward and takes his forearm in her hand, tugging him in the house. Once Louis is inside, she locks the door behind him with her free hand, her other hand still on his arm.

Louis fidgets under her hold. His eyes flit around the entryway, clearly checking to see if anyone else is around.

“My dad isn’t home,” Clem informs him. “It’s just me and A.J tonight.”

“Where’s A.J?”

“Asleep.”

He instantly relaxes at that, the tension leaving his shoulders through a sigh. 

Clementine searches his somber face. “Who did this to you, Louis?” Her question comes out soft, but there’s an inkling of anger in her tone that can’t be hidden. He wouldn’t look so distraught if he hurt himself on accident. He wouldn’t have showed up at her door this late if what happened had been an unfortunate fluke. 

It’s evident that someone else was involved—someone who had the ability to hurt him and chose to do just that.

It irks her to her core that she doesn’t know who did this to him. 

Louis won’t look at her—his eyes are fixed on something over her head. She squeezes his arm in an attempt to get him to look at her, but he doesn’t. He only shakes his head, choosing to stay silent. 

Clem won’t force him to open up if he’s not ready. That’s not the type of person she is. When he’s ready to talk, he will. So she drops the topic and finds his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Let me clean you up.”

Louis lets her lead him upstairs and into the bathroom at the end of the hallway. She flips on the lights and instructs him to sit on the closed toilet. He does so without complaint. Clem wastes no time—she bustles around the bathroom and grabs a clean washcloth from the sink cabinet. Turning on the sink, she dampens the cloth with warm water and pumps a dollop of mild soap on the corner. 

For once, she’s taller than him as he sits on the toilet and she stands before him. It's a nice change of view, looking at him from above rather than below. She gently grabs a hold of his jaw and angles his head up, using the washcloth in her other hand to dab at the dried blood on his chin.

“The skin around your nose is red,” she points out. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Was your nose bleeding?” She wipes away the remaining blood off the underside of his chin and finds dried specks under his nose. She wipes those away too. 

“Mhm.”

Irritated skin. Bleeding nose. _So he was punched,_ Clem muses, using the other side of the cloth to do one last wipe of the lower half of his face. _When I find out who did this to him…_  

She wrings out the washcloth over the sink and then soaks it with cold water. Carefully, she presses the cloth to his nose, holding it there while he winces and writhes. “Quit moving so much,” she tells him.

“It hurts,” he mumbles. Clem proceeds to pat his nose with the cloth. She’s only two pats in when he suddenly hisses in pain and jerks back. “Ow, Clem!”

She lifts the washcloth away from his face. “Did that hurt?”    

“Yes!” His eyes are tightly shut.

With two hands on both sides of his face, she holds his head steady and looks at him straight on. “Your nose doesn’t look broken,” she undertones, tilting forward. “It’s not crooked.” She resumes pressing the cold cloth around his nose. “It’s probably just sore.”

“Shit, it hurts _so_ bad,” he moans. _“God.”_    

Clem frowns, sensitive to his suffering. She hates feeling useless—especially when it comes to helping the people she cares about—but that’s all she’s feeling right now as Louis squirms under her. 

“Here, hold this,” Clem instructs, waiting for Louis’ hand to replace hers in holding the washcloth. “We’re going to my room.” 

They exit the bathroom and travel down the hall to Clementine’s bedroom. She closes the door once they’re both in, mindful of A.J who is slumbering in his room right across from hers. 

Louis precariously lowers himself to the floor by her bed and rests his back against the frame. She takes a seat on her bed, her legs dangling beside his person. 

A soothing silence ensues and they bask in it. Louis tips his head back with the cold cloth still pressed to his nose. His closed eyes give him a relaxed appearance, save for the troubled crease in his brow.

Clem sweeps her fingers over his forehead, pushing away the dreads that hang over his face.

“This always happens,” he mutters under his breath.

“Hm?” 

“I always get the short end of the stick. Always.”

Clem lets him elaborate, still softly running her fingers over his forehead.

“No matter what I do—no matter how hard I try, nothing ever works out in my favor.” He gives a half-shrug. “I’ve been chasing after something that was never meant for me. I understand that now, loud and clear.” He works his jaw. “So no more—I’m done. I’m done with it all. I’ll stop making music. I’ll sell all my instruments. I’ll do what my dad wants—I’ll go to school for some boring ass major, I’ll wear a boring grey suit, I’ll work a boring nine to five job, and I’ll hate my life—but at least I’ll make money. At least I’ll stop getting my hopes crushed.”

“Nope,” she says bluntly.

Louis opens one eye. “No?” 

“You won’t do that.” 

“Yeah, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

Louis sits up and turns his head to look at her. “You don’t know that,” he says, a serious expression on his face.

Clem matches his look with a confident nod. “Yes I do.” 

“How?” 

She raises her chin. “Because I won’t let you.” 

Louis blinks once, then twice. “You won’t let me?” he repeats, disbelief coloring his tone.

“That’s right.”

He stares at her for a second longer before looking away. Holding the cloth to his nose, he quietly asks, “Why not?”

The hardwood floor is cold on her bare legs when Clem slides down beside him. They sit shoulder to shoulder. She watches him observe the lava lamp on her night table. “Because I believe in you,” she says calmly.

He returns his attention to her and lowers the cloth from his nose.      

There’s no reply, so she continues, “Even if everyone turns against you—you’ll have me. So use that. Believe _me_ until you can believe in yourself.” 

The origin of Louis’ internal conflict is unknown, but she refuses to let him wallow in self-pity. If Clem has to be the one standing pillar in the rubble of his life, then so be it. She’ll support him however he needs it— _whenever_ he needs it. Her loyalty knows no bounds when it comes to the people she cares about. 

She won’t let _anyone_ rob Louis of his joy; because without it, he’s not Louis.

And that’s the _real_ tragedy. 

Louis stares at her like she’s a hallucination. There’s an urge to break eye contact—the shy part of her begging to run and hide—but she dismisses it. She can’t back down. He needs to understand that she’s being one hundred percent honest. Nothing less.    

A full minute passes before his awestruck gaze softens and he lowers his head, laying it on her shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

Clem wraps her arms around his neck, holding him there. She’s content to embrace him like this—her chin resting on top of his head with their breathing matched. When she closes her eyes, an intense sentiment of affection overwhelms her—seemingly out of nowhere—ardent and consuming, it causes her skin to warm and leaves her pulse throbbing in her ears. 

It scares her—the way he makes her feel—but it’s also exhilarating. It’s an unfamiliar blend of emotions, but Clem can’t seem to get enough. 

Louis lifts his head and Clem loosens her arms around his neck, but doesn’t remove them. He gifts her a small smile, the first smile he’s shown since arriving, and her heart rejoices. Pride flares in her chest. She revels in the fact that she was able to bring a smile to his face.

That smile is what compels Clementine to lean forward and kiss him—right on the center of his lips. The gesture is rushed—it’s over as fast as it started. All she wanted to do was stop time and contain his mirth, if only for a second longer. Her act of boldness is realized when she pulls away, the thumping beat of her heart alerting her that she just kissed him.

She just _kissed_ Louis.

Louis is surprised too, if his round eyes are any indication. Clem swallows and moistens her lips. Did she overstep a boundary? Maybe she’s moving too fast. _She’s_ the one who asked him to take things slow. Now look at her. 

She needs to rein herself in, control her yearnings and—

A hand on her arm stops her from moving away. Louis looks at her, his eyes flickering down to her lips, then back to her eyes. Clem understands the wordless signal. She doesn’t have to be convinced to lean back in, pausing an inch away to whisper, “Is this okay?”

Louis nods.

So she kisses him again. Except this time, he reciprocates. It’s a gentle pressing of lips, but it’s enough to cease all her thoughts, her mind blissfully numb. They slowly break apart to come together again, his languid movements so tender and careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter. Goosebumps tingle her skin and a ball of warmth travels down her spine like liquid.   

Kissing him is achingly sweet. Clem feels like she’s melting, swept up in the euphoria of the moment. So much so, that when Louis pulls away, Clem—with her eyes still closed-—leans forward to press her mouth against his once more.  

“Clem.”

She hums, still kissing him.

“Clem—wait.” Louis breaks the kiss with his hands on her shoulders. “Wait. Give me a second.”

Her eyes flutter open, and she sees Louis with his own eyes shut and his brows knitted in concentration. 

“Sorry,” she says, blushing **.**

“Don’t be. I just—I need a minute to catch my breath.” His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. It takes him some time, but once he calms down he opens his eyes and says, “Wow.”

“Wow,” Clem echoes with a smile, her cheeks still tinged with pink.

“That was, um, fun.”

She arches a brow. “Fun?”

“Amazing,” he corrects himself. “Awesome. Wonderful. Remarkable.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Clem skims her thumb across his cheekbone. “How’s your nose?” she asks softly.   

“I forgot I had one, to be honest.”

Her hand flies up to her mouth to suppress her giggle.  

Louis grins at her. “I love it when you laugh.”

Clem smiles, leaning up to plant a quick peck on his lips. “No, but seriously—does it still hurt?” 

“A little, yeah.” Louis sighs, his happy appearance rapidly fading. He looks at the floor when he says, “Thanks for helping me and whatnot. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Clem states.

Louis bobs his head in understanding. “I’m _really_ not looking forward to going home,” he says quietly, stretching out a leg in front of him.

“Then stay here,” she utters before she has the chance to comprehend the undertones of her suggestion. When Louis raises his eyebrows, she adds, “...Not like that. I mean, you can crash on the sofa.”

“What about your dad?” 

“He won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon,” she says. “You can spend the night here, and then leave in the morning before he comes home.”

Louis squints his eyes, deep in thought. “Will you be sharing said sofa with me?”

Her jaw goes slack. “Are you serious?”

“Very.” He places a hand on his chest and whines, “I’m in pain, Clem. I need comfort.” 

He makes a show of jutting out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, pairing it with a pleading stare.  

Clem rolls her eyes, secretly relishing in the idea of being his comfort. “Fine. I’ll stay until you fall asleep, then I’m going to my room.” She holds her hand out. “Deal?” 

Louis takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “Deal.”

 

\---

 

He's seven years old, sitting in a white room with white floors, white walls, white ceiling, white everything. The piano before him is black, a stark contrast to his surroundings—or lack thereof. It's a grand piano, similar to the one in his house. 

The one where he first learned how to play.

Louis is drawn to the instrument. It's calling out to him; so he obeys its call and presses a key. F-sharp.

He furrows his brows when no sound is emitted. 

Another key. B-flat.

Nothing.

His tiny hands smash down as many keys as he can. The result should be a jarring clash of sounds. 

There's silence.

He can hear own breathing, can hear the blood pumping in his ears, can hear the muscles in his throat constrict as he swallows—but he can't hear the piano. 

"Hey!" his childish voice shouts at the piano. "Work!" He's wildly banging on the keys and dragging his hands from the first key to the last, trying to get _one_ note out of the instrument.

But alas, the piano remains silent. 

Louis is about to give up when a harsh white light shines in his face, nearly blinding him. He has to shut his eyes and turn his head away to protect his eyesight. After a few minutes, the light dims to a tolerable level. Louis screws up his eyes and tries to peer through the light. 

He does not expect to find himself alone on a stage with droves of people seated in front of him, to the sides of him, and above him—all watching him. 

Waiting. 

The arena is quiet. No one speaks. There are no cheers or boos—there's nothing. The audience only blinks at him. A million eyes, blinking, waiting, watching. 

He feels like a bug under a telescope. 

They must be expecting him to play something, but how can he when the piano refuses to make music? Louis forces the keys down as hard as his seven-year-old arms can, but it's to no avail **.** Everyone is observing him, their eyes attentive, but they're not moving, still as statues.

Shame pricks his skin and accelerates his heart. An invisible force roots him to the spot—preventing him from running away. He's stuck sitting here, doing nothing, producing nothing, while countless people stare at him. He desperately smashes the keys down, knowing there's no use at this point, but still trying anyway. 

Why won't the piano make any noise?! Why is this happening to him?!

A choked sob slips past his lips as he sits there, tiredly bashing the piano. "Please…" he whimpers. _I can't do this. I'm failing, I'm failing, I'm failing… I can't fail, I can't._

_I can't--_

Louis wakes up in a state of half-consciousness, his mind shrouded in a fog that hinders his cognizance. He only knows one thing.

He's not on a stage.

The pillow underneath his head is soft and the blanket over his shoulders is scratchy. His fingers brush over a shaggy material, and after a few strokes does he notice he's petting the carpet. 

Clementine's living room welcomes him when he cracks open an eye. 

Right. He crashed on her couch last night. 

Louis yawns, last night coming back to him in blurry segments. He remembers being at Minnie's place, talking to Sophie, Sophie telling him she's in love with him… Then Minnie announcing her departure from the band, using George Powell for herself, Marlon blurting out his application to Juilliard, getting punched in the face by Mitch…

His nose begins to throb as soon as that memory resurfaces.

He left Minnie's house and drove to Clem's place in an emotional daze, she took him in, cleaned him up…

They kissed each other.

It was simultaneously the worst night ever and the best night ever.

But now he's exhausted—a deep-rooted kind of exhaustion that not only ails his body, but also his mind. There's so much he has to deal with—the aftermath of the fight, the state of the band, his parents, _himself_ , etcetera—but he doesn't have the mental energy for any of it. He'll figure it out later. Right now, he wants to sleep.

So he closes his eyes, and does just that.

 

\---

 

A hand gently shakes his shoulder, rousing him from his slumber. 

Louis lies on his stomach with his head resting in his folded arms. It felt like he went back to sleep for five minutes. That's not enough time. Can't Clem give him _one_ more minute?

Another shake. 

A weary groan sounds from his throat. _Fine._ It's time to get up. 

Louis rubs his hands down his face, savoring the darkness for a moment more before he has to be confronted with the sunlit living room. He can imagine Clem tapping her foot behind the couch, her patience growing thin with how slowly he's waking up, so he jokes, "What? No kiss good morning?"

The gruff voice that responds to him does _not_ belong to Clementine.

"Excuse me?" 

One billion volts of electricity strike him like lightning. Louis practically falls off the couch with how fast he jolts up.

There's a man standing behind the couch with his arms crossed, a scowl etched in the lines on his face. The air around him is so menacing and intimidating, Louis would not be surprised if he keeled over right this instant from a heart attack. 

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

This is _not_ how he wanted to meet Clem's dad!

"Who are you and why are you in my house?" Lee asks with a cold clipped tone.

Louis' face grows rigid with fear. "I—I'm--I..."

He can't get a single word out. How can he explain what happened last night and still make a good first impression?

_"Hey, I'm Louis! I came over last night when you weren't home and kissed your daughter in her room. Nice to meet you!"_

Hell no! He'll never be able to see Clementine again!

He's truly stuck between a rock and a hard place with this one. 

And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse—a pajama-clad A.J comes barrelling into the living room and leaps onto the sofa, landing on Louis. 

"Louis!" A.J exclaims, wrapping his arms around Louis' torso. 

Louis pats A.J's back and tries his hardest to smile at him, but it's hard when Clem's father is burning holes into the side of his head. "H-Hey, little dude."

A.J beams at him, completely unaware of the death stare his dad is giving Louis. "I missed you!" A.J starts hopping on the couch. "How come you don't come over anymore?" 

Lee chokes out, _"Anymore?"_

_A.J is going to get me killed!_

It already sucks that Clem's dad found him camping out on his sofa, but if he gets the idea that Louis regularly sneaks in his house while he's away, well, Louis probably won't make it to graduation.

Because he'll be dead.

Louis coughs out a fake laugh in an attempt to play off A.J's statement. "What? What are you talking about, A.J? This is my first time here. Ever. In my life." 

 _"Noooo!"_ A.J drawls. "Remember that time—"

"Nope!" Louis talks over A.J. "Don't remember it because it didn't happen!" 

"But—"

"A.J," Lee cuts in. "Go wake up Clem."

"Okay!" A.J bounds off the couch, out of the living room, and up the stairs.

Leaving Louis alone with Lee. 

Neither of them speak. The tension of the room is so thick it’s gradually suffocating Louis. He's constantly gulping down the terror that crawls up his throat. It doesn't help that Lee won't take his eyes off of him. He tries to focus on other things—the magazines on the coffee table, the blinking red dot on the telephone, the candy wrapper lying on the carpet—but he can't escape the older man's glower. 

 _He's going to kill me,_ his brain speculates. _I'm not making it out of this house alive._

He has to accept it. He _will_ accept it. He'll look his fate right in the eye and accept it. 

At least he got to kiss Clem before his death.

Oh God, _this_ is why Lee is going to kill him. 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs break him out of his morbid musings. Louis twists around to see Clem stop before she reaches the bottom step. Her eyes land on her father and several different emotions flicker across her face. "Lee… I..." 

Lee regards his daughter with a frown. "Mind explaining what's going on?"

Clem glances at Louis. "His car was having trouble," she says smoothly. "I told him he could stay over so he wouldn't have to be on the road at night."

Louis is impressed. He wouldn't have been able to come up with something that believable in such a short amount of time. 

Lee looks at Louis. “Is this true?” 

Louis nods, not trusting himself to speak aloud.

Lee drops his arms and exhales a long breath. “Clem, give me a moment with Louis.” 

“Please don’t be mad at him,” Clem pleads. “It’s not his fault. I’m the one—”  

 _“Go_ to your room, Clementine,” Lee orders sharply. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Clem spares one last glance at Louis, then quietly retreats up the stairs. 

Chopin’s _Funeral March_ plays in his head as Lee comes around the couch to sit next to him. Louis makes sure to keep his distance from the man, sitting as far away as the sofa will allow. 

Lee slants forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I’ve heard of you,” he says. “Surprisingly from A.J before Clem, but they both seem to like you.”   

Louis stares straight ahead, his entire body stiff with anxiety. 

Lee goes on, “This is not how I wanted to meet you. I understand the predicament you were in, and I sympathize with you, but I do not want you here when I’m not present. Do you understand?” 

Louis gulps. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” Lee steeples his fingers together. “Now, I want you to tell me something, and I want you to completely honest with me. Okay?”

Louis sets his jaw. “Okay.”

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”  

That question steals his attention. Louis looks at Lee, and is met with dark—almost black—examining eyes. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Lee says when Louis doesn’t give him an immediate answer. “I know she likes you, and I’m assuming you like her as well.”

“I do,” Louis manages to utter. 

“Why?”

Louis almost laughs. _Why_ does he like Clementine? The list expands every day. He finds something new to like about her every time he sees her, every time he talks to her, every time he _thinks_ about her. There’s no adjective that can describe how highly he thinks of her—amazing, wonderful, spectacular; no words can capture how his heart sings at the mere mention of her name. She brings out a different side of him—a side he never knew he possessed. 

The Louis who puts everyone’s needs before his own, the people-pleaser, the jokester, the Louis who is so preoccupied with gaining everyone’s approval—there’s someone else behind those façades. Someone who isn’t as funny, or as jolly—someone who is trying their best to deal with their own insecurities and hindrances and failed expectations of themselves. 

 _That’s_ the Louis he hides from the world.

But he doesn’t have to hide that from her.  

She believes in him no matter what.  

 _Why_ does he like Clementine?

“She makes me want to be better,” Louis says. 

Lee’s forehead creases. “Better at what?”  

“Everything.” Louis nods, consumed by his thoughts. “A better person. Better for her, better for myself—just… Better.”

What started out as a simple crush has flourished into something greater, something stronger, and he knows it’s not going away anytime soon.

Lee studies him closely, but Louis doesn’t break character. There is no character to break. He’s being completely honest, like Lee asked. 

Lee chuckles and rises to his feet. He asks, “Do your parents know you spent the night here?”

Louis shakes his head, confused at the sudden subject change. “No, sir.”

“Then you should probably head home.” 

Ah, he’s getting kicked out. 

“Yes, sir.” Louis sets his mouth in a hard line and gathers his shoes from the side of the couch. Once they’re laced up, he stands up and walks to the front door with his head low.  

“And Louis?”

Louis stops.

“Stop by for dinner next time.” Lee’s eyes crinkle. “Clem says I make good spaghetti.”

The corners of his mouth turn up into a warm smile. “I’d like that.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! EVERYTHING HAPPENS SO MUCH!!!!!!!
> 
> i told y'all drama was coming! not only with sophie, but with minnie!!! u can't trust either of them 😡 what a crappy time for the band 😭 poor louis.... i'm so sorry 😭 this chapter was the one i was most excited to get to in the story, so i hope you enjoyed reading it! i've had the majority of this chap planned out since the beginning of instant crush, so seeing these scenes come to fruition was very fun >:) our clouis crops are thriving! (for now 😉) if you think the drama ends there, think again, there's more to come! 
> 
> as always, thank you for being the best readers in the world and sticking with me! i love your comments and excitement over the story 💕💕 it's really the juice that drives me <3 love you all <3
> 
> in the meantime, if you're bored of waiting for the next chapter, [come and talk to me](http://zvkos.tumblr.com/ask) about anything! headcanons, questions about the story, etc! (i'm so behind on my headcanons, but if you've asked any, don't fret! they WILL be answered) 
> 
> i also made a playlist that is inspired by the sound i believe Troubled Youth has. if you want to listen to it [click here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iEwZWjm1Q6zGKSIoby1nu)


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